


Outside Expectations

by katnissdoesnotfollowback (lost_on_cloud_9)



Series: Outside Chance [3]
Category: Hunger Games Series - All Media Types, Hunger Games Trilogy - Suzanne Collins, The Hunger Games (Movies)
Genre: F/M, Language, Mentions of verbal abuse, Parenting Shenanigans, Savannah/Graham Mellark, Sexual Content, more incompetent adults, outside chance universe, proof that i no longer have any self control, this universe is getting out of hand
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-08-08
Updated: 2019-01-22
Packaged: 2019-06-24 02:37:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 17
Words: 93,624
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15620670
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lost_on_cloud_9/pseuds/katnissdoesnotfollowback
Summary: Sometimes, the best person for you is the one you don't expect.An expansion of the "Outside Chance" universe focused on Graham and Savannah and how they wound up in that ivory and estrogen tower with a pack of daughters.





	1. The Meet Cute

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ah yes, I know I promised to post three other things before I posted this, but guess what! I can wait no longer! Hope you enjoy this peek into Savannah and Graham. I've got ideas to keep this going for a few more chapters, but I'd like to know if anyone's actually interested in reading more. In other words, comments pretty please!
> 
> For Savvy and Honeylime. It's literally all your fault. Both of you. So you better show this sucker some love.

**_Salt Lake City - October 2001_ **

I drive by the place once just to make sure I have the right address. Twice because I know this can’t be right. There’s no way my cousin from Wyoming, who I’ve known since birth and who’s more like a little sister to me anyways, set me up on a blind date with someone who thinks _Michelle’s_ is a suitable first date for someone like me. It’s a swanky French restaurant that just opened. It’ll probably go bankrupt in weeks. Hopes and dreams won’t poof enough clientele into this part of town to keep this place afloat.

Then again, it is a _blind_ date. I have no idea how much Penelope has told him about me, but his restaurant selection suggests not a whole lot. Despite all that, I decide to give the guy a shot, at least then I’ll get a good meal and a night out of the house out of it, right? I’ve never eaten at an actual French restaurant before, so I park my motorcycle and pry off my helmet. Without the tint of the face shield, I have to squint against the glare off the polished windows and gilt lettering. The sun is at the worst angle right now and I hurry inside before it blinds me.

“Bonsoir, mademoiselle.” I stare at the host and blink. He’s wearing a tuxedo. A freaking tuxedo! My high school Spanish is not gonna help me with this one. I already feel like a dolt and glance down at my plaid skirt and black tights, plain green blouse and leather jacket. I am so underdressed. My boots clunk together as I make myself as small as possible. I look back up at the host and remember that in a place like this, they’re called maitre de’s. Progress!

“Um my name is Savannah, I’m meeting someone here?”

“Ah yes! Right this way!” He smiles and shows me into the dining room. I keep my distance and peer around him, scoping out the patrons to see if I can spot my date before we reach the table. There’s only a handful of people in the restaurant. Mostly couples. One group that’s clearly here for a business dinner.

Then I spot a guy with long brown hair, dressed in all black. He’s bent over a paper, scribbling away, a far off, dreamy look in his eyes. An artist! I can dig this. Maybe a writer. There’s also a balled up apron on the table next to him, like maybe he works here and is just enjoying some discount food on his break or before he goes home. I stand a little straighter and smile, but tuxedo guy keeps walking. My gaze lingers on tortured artist just a second and then whips back around in time to see the only other single diner in this place rise from his seat.

Oh no.

I nearly spin around and leave right then. What the heck was Penelope thinking? He’s wearing a blue collared shirt and a tie, I can practically smell the starch on him. Pressed trousers — because there’s really no other way to describe them, and are those pleats?! And I spot a blazer draped over the back of his chair.

I can’t do this! But he’s already spotted me and scratches the back of his neck as he gives me a once over and seems immediately disappointed with how I’m dressed. Great. This is gonna be so awkward.

“Savannah?” he asks as tuxedo delivers me for judgement, carefully laying a menu on the table at the second place setting and then disappearing. I nod at my date with a pathetic attempt at a smile.

“You must be Graham. Penelope’s told me so much about you!” Just be polite, enjoy some hopefully good food, and then leave. Shouldn’t be a problem, right?

“Oh. Um. Great. She uh didn’t exactly say much about you,” he says, and if this weren’t already awkward enough, that’s just the icing on the cake. If she’d told him anything about me, he probably never would have agreed to this date. My cheeks are burning as he moves around the table and pulls the chair out for me.

Wait what? Do people still do that? We stand there staring at one another and he drums his fingers on the back of the chair.

“Sorry,” I mutter and slide into the chair. Ugh this is a disaster!

“It’s fine,” he says and takes his seat again, clears his throat. “So what did Penelope tell you about me?”

“Your name,” I roll my eyes at myself. Gah I’m such a dork. “Well I mean obviously she told me that. She mentioned that you like to ski and something about travel? I think.” He smiles and it catches me off balance.

“Look, I’m guessing that I’m not what you were expecting so um if you want me to just tell you that you’re cute and sweet and you buy me dinner, then I’ll pay your parking and we can call it a date?”

He folds his hands on the table and stares at me a second.

“I didn’t have any idea _what_ to expect,” he says and I shift nervously waiting for him to say more.

“Soooooo….now what?”

“I guess your idea works.”

“Bonsoir.” Graham’s attention is diverted for a moment as he speaks to the waiter — in French what the hey?! — and I hide behind the menu, pretending that I can read it but really I have no clue so I use the time to study him. Since I’m gonna be stuck eating with him.

He’s kind of cute, in a preppy, rich kid sort of way. Okay, he’s actually _really_ cute. Maybe even hot. Neatly trimmed dark blonde hair and deep, ocean blue eyes, and full lips wow! But the clothes, the French restaurant, the face that looks like it belongs in a cologne ad…I’m out of my depth here.

“I ordered us an appetizer, if that’s okay?”

I nod and then freeze. “Unless it was snails.”

He laughs and a new kind of heat fills my cheeks. Not embarrassment this time but something far more pleasant. His laughter isn’t mean at all.

“God no. I hate escargot.”

“You’ve eaten snails?” I ask and he shrugs.

“I had to. Triple dog dare from a little brother.”

“Oh my gosh really? I totally get that. I’ve got two younger brothers — twins actually — and a sister, but anyways my brothers are always pulling these crazy pranks on each other or daring one another to do stupid things no matter how many times I try to tell them not to let the other get to them and just the other day—“ I cut myself off and clasp both my hands together in my lap. “I’m rambling. I’m sorry. So the snails! Were they slimy?”

He seems a bit dazed and shakes his head a little.

“Slimy and disgusting, just like you’d expect.” I shudder and he laughs again, then he asks if I speak any French.

“Shitty high school Spanish?” I say and then cringe. “Oh gosh. I’m sorry. I probably shouldn’t swear in a place like this.”

He waves it off and offers to help me read the menu so I can at least eat something I might enjoy. My eyes bulge at the prices and I settle on some kind of salad because it’s the least expensive thing on the menu. After the waiter leaves us once more, we fall into an awkward silence.

I’m not quite sure what to think of him and this is easily the most uncomfortable date ever. He coughs once, quietly behind his hand and I’m pretty sure that’s the nail in this date’s coffin but our food hasn’t even arrived yet and I’m really hungry.

“So, how do you know Penelope?”

“We went to grade school together.”

“Oh so you know each other well,” I say, seeing a flicker of hope. Maybe Penelope knows something secret about him that makes this set up logical, but Graham quickly douses that hope.

“Uh not really.”

“How is that possible? Isn’t Jackson, Wyoming a pretty small town?”

“It is...I just haven’t spent a whole lot of time there recently.”

“Oh. Okay. So then what brings you to Salt Lake City?”

“My job -- well not my job, I mean it brings in some money but it’s not the only job I have and it’s really more of a passion or occupation than a _job_ …” He trails off and seems a little uncomfortable, clears his throat and I admit, it’s a little endearing. “I feel kind of awkward talking about me when I know next to nothing about you, Savannah. I don’t mean to pry but um...any idea why Penelope would want to set us up on a date?”

“No not really,” I say, but he’s got me intrigued with his mention of his job bringing him here. Gainfully employed! That’s always a bonus. Especially since my first impression of him was rich kid with all the privilege in the world, probably going to college on the Scholarship of Mom and Dad’s Trust Fund. “What is it you do?”

He blinks and stares wide eyed at me a moment. “You mean she didn’t tell you that?”

“Should she have?”

He shifts in his seat and seems confused. “Well I figured that was the reason you actually agreed to this date. I mean, maybe not,” his eyes skim over my leather jacket and his head tilts, like I’m some kind of puzzle he’s trying to decipher. “But it’s usually the big draw. At least in some circles.” More awkward silence.

“I’m sorry, I don’t follow. Maybe plain English and not code?”

“Right,” he smiles and glances down at his hands. “Guess you just threw me off balance.” I can feel my shoulders tensing at that comment and am over analyzing his tone when his eyes meet mine. His gaze is so direct it throws _me_ off balance for a second. “I ski.”

“Okay,” I say with a shrug and take a sip of my water. “She mentioned that.”

“No see it’s not a hobby or something I do on weekends. That’s my job.”

“Skiing?” I ask and he smiles, satisfied.

“Yes.”

“Sorry, still not following. How does skiing pay bills?”

His smile falters and he leans forward on the table. “Well it doesn’t pay a lot of them yet, but I’m getting there. A few solid wins and I’ll make a real name for myself.”

Well I feel like an idiot now. Of course he meant ski races. Because that makes _total_ sense with his wardrobe. My eyes dip to the knot in his tie then back up to his face.

“I’ll be honest, I did not get ‘jock’ vibes off the pleated trousers and tie.” His cheeks turn pink and I bite my tongue. I didn’t mean to insult him! Crap! “Sorry.”

“No it’s okay. I still don’t know what kind of vibes you’re sending off. The leather jacket and boots made me expect someone more abrasive but there’s something soft in your eyes.”

“I’m not soft,” I say and sit up straight.

His eyes widen for a moment and thankfully the waiter drops by to ask about wine. I use the disruption to make an excuse and slip into the ladies’ room. I pace for a moment and then pull out my phone. I’ll have to use some of my precious minutes, but I need answers.

“Penelope! What were you thinking?” I hiss as soon as she answers.

“You’re welcome,” she says sarcastically and I groan.

“No! I’m not thanking you!”

“Geez, Sav. You’re the only person I know who can be set up on a blind date with a hot guy who’s an Olympic athlete and turn it into a disaster.” Someone flushes and Penelope gags. “Wait are you hiding in the bathroom?”

“I had to! This is a disaster! And what are you talking about? Olympic athlete?”

“He didn’t tell you yet? That’s like the third thing out of his mouth anytime he meets someone new. Man, he must have really been thrown by your bike and leather.”

“Explain! And talk fast, I’m wasting minutes on this.”

“Okay okay! He skis competitively--”

“He mentioned that--”

“And he’s going to the Olympics there in Salt Lake in February. So if you two hit it off...SURPRISE! You might get free tickets for speed skating.” I stand there in stunned silence for a moment as the other patron of the stalls exits to wash her hands. She gives me a condescending once over and I narrow my eyes at her pearls. It takes a lot for me to not say that at least I don’t have a stick shoved up my ass.

I huff as Penelope asks me if I’m still there. “Yeah, but I don’t know why. Penny he’s wearing pleated trousers and a blazer!”

“Okay I know, I’m sorry. Look he’s a jock and kind of preppy. You’re part biker, part artist. I thought maybe it’d be an opposites attract kind of thing!”

“Fail!” I say and toss up my hand in exasperation.

“Okay well at least get some dinner out of it.”

“That was my plan but I don’t know what to talk to the guy about! I’ve never skied in my life!” I can’t afford it, but Penelope already knows that.

“There’s got to be something you two have in common.” I groan again and she apologizes.

“It’s fine, I’ll deal. I gotta go. Wasting peak minutes and now he’s probably wondering if i got flushed down the toilet.”

She giggles and tells me to call her after the date. I slip my phone in my jacket pocket, zip it back up and check my appearance in the mirror. My braid is a mess. Flyaway city, sheesh. Not that it matters. This date is going nowhere, I’m sure. So I wash my hands and head back out to the table.

“So, wine?” I ask as I slide back into my chair and Graham actually stands while I do. Like they do in old movies.

“Um, no wine. I’m not twenty-one yet.”

“Okay wow. Maybe we should back up and start more basic,” I suggest because I totally assumed he was over twenty-one. He certainly looks like it, not to mention the whole going to the Olympics thing.

“I’m nineteen. I’ll be twenty in January,” he says.

“Just turned twenty,” I offer and he nods.

“So then no wine for either of us.”

“Guess not,” I say and we fall back into that awkward silence.

“How old are your brothers? Twins, right?”

“Yeah. They’re fifteen. My sister is seventeen. What about you? You said you had a younger brother?”

“Two. Ryen’s about to turn thirteen and Peeta’s nine.”

“Oh!” I say and sit up a little. That’s a noticeable gap. “Surprises or…”

“Actually I think all of us were surprises,” he says and shifts his flatware on the table. “Must have been nice having your siblings all close together like that. Then you’re not expected to take care of them or babysit whenever your parents feel like it.”

“Um...sure,” I say. The appetizer -- a simple cheese and bread platter -- arrives and we eat. Sibling stories carry us until the main course arrives and when the waiter leaves, we’re more quiet, conversation spaced oddly between chewing. I eat as quickly as I can but the rich dressing on the salad makes it difficult. Graham asks about my hobbies and I give him short answers between bites. He doesn’t seem too intrigued though.

“So the skiing thing,” I say as the plates are cleared and I’ve already declined dessert, which makes our waiter look appalled and Graham look almost relieved.

“Yeah, um, I haven’t been completely honest about that, Savannah.”

“So you don’t ski for a living?” I ask, wondering if he’s about to lie his way out of a second date or try to impress me into giving him one. Not that I want a second date.

“No, I do. It’s um...okay this is going to sound crazy but I’m competing in the Olympics in February.”

Honesty. I wait for him to tell me how good he is but instead he runs one finger up and down the side of his water glass and almost stumbles through more of an explanation.

“It’s my first time and I’m really nervous. But, you know, I can’t tell anyone that.”

“Why?”

“Why what?”

“Why are you nervous and why can’t you tell anyone?” I ask and his mouth purses together for a second as he examines me. Whatever test he’s got for me in his head, I must pass it because he keeps talking.

“I’m nervous because I’m competing in the same event my grandfather won gold in thirty-eight years ago. It’s been my dream my whole life to do the same thing, and it’s going to be here. At home.”

“Well that sounds pretty amazing to me,” I say. “I mean, you’re barely twenty and you’re competing in the Olympics. Makes me question my life choices.”

His lips twitch and he hides his hands under the table.

“And I can’t tell anyone because I don’t want to let my family down or embarrass them.”

“Oh Graham. Your first Olympics? I think you get a pass if you don’t medal. Did your grandfather medal at his first Olympics?”

“No,” Graham says and I lean towards him with an expectant look, waiting for more. “His second, but even then it was silver not gold. Took him three tries to get gold.”

“See? So don’t put so much pressure on yourself.”

He releases a huff of air as the check is deposited in front of him. He glances at it and slips some bills into the folio and then stands, puts his blazer back on. Must be nice to have that kind of money.

“Can I walk you out?” he offers me his hand and I blink, but place mine in his palm. I was just starting to enjoy this date, but I remember our deal and stand.

“Sure. I’m paying for your parking, remember?” He follows me outside and into the cool night. I shiver and look up and down the row of cars parked in front of the restaurant. “So which one is you?”

“I um, didn’t drive myself. I took a cab.”

“Oh,” I say and my heart sinks. I don’t know if I have enough for cab fare.

“You don’t have to pay for that,” he says suddenly and his hand lifts to touch my arm. I barely feel any pressure with all the layers that I’m wearing.

“Can I at least give you a ride?” I try to save face and he thinks about it for a minute.

“Okay,” he agrees and I lead him over to my bike. “Wait. You drive that?”

“Yeah,” I say. “Where am I taking you?”

Surprise, surprise, he names one of the ski resorts just at the foot of the mountains. I dig out the guest helmet and offer it to him. I almost expect him to back out now that he knows what he’ll be riding on, but he surprises me and slips the helmet right on, adjusting and securing the strap with surprising speed. Huh. Okay.

I take care of my own helmet and straddle the bike, pat the stretch of leather behind me and start her up as Graham swings his leg over. His weight pushes the bike down on her shocks. I rev her up a few times and wait for his hands to hold onto me. When he doesn’t touch me, I turn a little and see that he’s leaning back, gripping the seat and keeping as much space between us as possible. Such a gentleman. To start with, I tap the pegs and his feet. He obediently sets his shiny shoes on the pegs and tenses. I roll my eyes and grab one of his wrists, drag his arm around me. He gets the hint and embraces me fully.

Whoa. He’s um...built kind of broad. I hadn’t really noticed with him sitting across the table, but it’s kind of hard to ignore with his body almost engulfing mine like a giant teddy bear.

I shake off the strange feeling and kick up the stand to back out of our spot.

“Hang on!”

“What?” he yells as I take off and his arms tighten around me. He curses and I laugh. Nice to know preppy ski boy has a more colorful vocabulary than I thought.

There’s no conversation on a motorcycle and the autumn air is chilling. With Graham’s body curled around me, his legs bent and flush against the back of mine, the only part of me that’s cold is my hands in their gloves. It’s like I’ve got a personal heater as a passenger.

When we make it to the resort, I pull up in front of the door and kill the engine as Graham climbs off and removes the helmet. His bangs spike up and I stifle a giggle as he hands the helmet back to me.

“Thanks for the ride.”

“Thanks for the dinner.”

“My pleasure.”

I stow the helmet and sit back on the bike, but Graham doesn’t move away from me.

“Did you need valet, Miss?” A guy in a vest and tie approaches and I shake my head.

“No, she’s just dropping me off, Felix. Thank you, though,” Graham says and Felix nods.

“Alright Mr. Mellark. Sorry to interrupt.”

“You know the valet?” I ask. Graham scratches the back of his neck and glances around.

“We stay here a lot when I come here for training and things. Savannah, would you...you wouldn’t want to go on a second date with me, would you?”

“Are you asking me on a second date?” I find it a little hard to believe and he huffs out a sigh, scratches at the back of his neck. Again. Must be a nervous tick.

“Yeah, I didn’t think you would,” he says and something in his tone tugs at me. But more than that, I’m curious what he saw so differently in our date from what I saw. What prompted this.

“No. It’s just I didn’t know how long you’d be in town and… What did you have in mind?” I ask and he pauses in the midst of turning away from me.

“You said you like art. Is there a good art museum around here?”

“Yeah,” I say and he smiles.

“Okay, um I’ll take you to that. Can I get your number?” I narrow my eyes at him and he’s quick to explain. “I gotta look at my training schedule again so we can set up a time and date.”

“Oh,” I say and check my pockets for a pen. He does the same and we both come up empty.

“Uh hold on.” He jogs over to the stand where Felix waits for customers. They talk for a second and Felix hands him a pen. When he returns, he curses under his breath. “I don’t have any paper.”

“Here,” I say with a laugh and take his hand and the pen. I write my house number on the palm of his hand. It’s huge and I can’t stop the thought that his hand would swallow mine if he held it. His hand is also somehow still warm even after our drive through town, and no gloves. I’m starting to think my teddy bear analogy was accurate in a few ways.

When I’m done, he smiles at me and waves.

“Goodnight, Savannah.”

“Night,” I say and put my helmet back on. As I start up the bike, an older gentleman exits the hotel and shouts, catching Graham’s attention. The man’s eyes flick to me for a second and I wonder if that’s his father or his coach. Shrugging it off, I pull out of the loop and head home.

I flop into bed after checking on the kids and my Mom, unsure of everything that happened tonight. I don’t know why I gave him my number. That was probably dumb. He was just so...unexpectedly nice. And not what I expected from a buttoned up, pleated trouser wearing jock. Whatever. I don’t actually expect Graham to call me for a second date.


	2. The Second Date

“Wait, a full set of tires is how much?” I ask and cringe as the number remains the same. “Um, okay. Can I call you back?”

The man reminds me that their sale only runs two more days.

“Savannah!”

I hold up one finger so my sister waits and in the midst of the discussion about sale prices for tires, there’s a call waiting beep in my ear. Whoever it is will just have to call back later.

“Savannah!”

I shake my finger again as the guy at the tire place finally finishes. We can’t go another month without changing the tires on Mom’s station wagon. There’s barely any tread left on them, but this means something else has to go. I’m already mentally rearranging priorities as I tell him to put me down for tomorrow at noon.

Tuition on hold maybe? I think as I hang up. I need to look into what sort of penalties I’ll incur if I take a semester off to work and return next fall instead.

“Savannah!”

“Yo!” I turn a smile to my sister and she rolls her eyes.

“I asked if the washing machine is free. I need to do laundry.”

“Yeah, just...can you toss mine in too? And Mom’s work shirt.”

“Sure, fine. Oh! And some guy called for you yesterday. Graham? I wrote his number down.” She points to the counter and I blink as she hurries out of the room towards our shared room, to gather up laundry, I hope. Then I turn and check the pad of paper. No phone number. I search for a minute for a stray piece of paper and find nothing.

“Brianna! There’s no number!”

“What?” she shouts over the sounds of the washing machine starting and I sigh, grab a pencil and hope it was the last thing written down. I set the pencil tip on its side and gently brush it over the paper, and sure enough, Brianna’s hasty writing is revealed in relief.

_Graham Millart???_

Along with a phone number and the number 302. Must be his room number. He actually called. Here I was starting to think he was just being nice when he asked for a second date. Or testing to see if I’d actually agree to it in some sort of confidence boost for him, although I don’t know why that’d have any effect.

It’s curiosity more than anything else that makes me pick the phone back up and dial. I have to smother a snort at the snotty voice that answers, listing the hotel name and asking how he may be of assistance to me.

“Can I speak with Graham Mellark? In room 302?”

“Of course, ma’am. Right away.”

“So uptight,” I mutter as I’m transferred. It only rings twice before someone picks up and a breathless voice comes on the line.

“Hello?”

“Um...Graham?” I ask.

“Yeah.”

“It’s Savannah. My sister said you called yesterday.”

“I did. Sorry just --” his voice is distant for a moment. “No it’s for me, Dad...Yeah, only take a second.”

“Is this a bad time?” I ask. He sounds flustered and for some reason, that makes me smile.

“No! I just have to be on the slopes in fifteen minutes. But um, are we still good for that art museum date?”

“Depends on the date,” I say. “I mean which day of the week. Not which date.”

Ugh, so smooth. This is why I don’t have boyfriends for long.

“Tomorrow? Are you free tomorrow at all?”

I glance down at the calendar spread on the counter. I have a very narrow window, but it is there. There’s a loud commotion from the driveway out front. My mother fighting with the twins, it sounds like. It’s been so long since I’ve just...wandered an art museum.

“Around three?” I ask. That leaves two hours until the museum closes and gives me an easy out if I need it.

“Great. Can I pick you up?” I look around the kitchen and the disaster it is right now. Picture the outside of the house, the peeling paint and the rusted chain link fence. Compare that to pleated trousers and fancy French restaurants with pristine white table cloths. There’s something about him that tugs at me, but I know that deep inside, we’re not the same and could never work. Especially not since he’s leaving soon.

As much as I’m intrigued with the idea of going out with him again, this will be the quickest, easiest way for him to realize just how different we are. And still get my time in a museum. So I give him my address.

I regret it as soon as I hang up, the rest of the day spent in conference with Mom on how to afford the tires and dealing with chores around the house. Brianna sits at the table, finishing her homework. I still need to do mine, but first I need to iron mine and my mother’s work shirts.

“Okay, electric isn’t due for another...two weeks. So if we wait to pay that,” Mom suggests and I nod.

“Mark it on the calendar and paperclip the bill to that week so we don’t forget. I’ll tell Hobbs to put me back on the schedule next weekend, too.”

“You were supposed to show something that weekend.”

“Can’t be helped,” I say with a shrug and Brianna taps her pencil on her open text book as the hissing of the iron fills the silence. I don’t have anything ready to show anyways. Nothing that I’m comfortable taking to an amateur art show at least. Creativity has been in short supply lately.

“So who’s this Graham person?” Brianna asks and my mother glances up at me with questions in her eyes.

“That’s French Restaurant Guy,” I remind my sister and she gasps.

“No way. So are you gonna see him again?”

“Tomorrow, apparently,” I say, my cheeks heating a little as she leans towards me.

“Do you like him?”

I don’t know, and I’m grateful that’s when the twins barge in, wondering what’s for dinner and distracting our Mom. But Brianna can tell I’m nervous when I change my outfit twice the next morning before leaving for school. I remind her that I’ll be taking the car for new tires after lunch so Mom can have it for her night shift and then I have a date.

With Graham Mellark.

“Oh that’s cute,” she reassures me as I turn in the mirror and wrinkle my nose.

“It’s so...casual.” I don’t know how to explain Graham’s aesthetic to her without making it sound like I’m insulting him.

“For an afternoon at the art museum?”

“I mean...maybe?”

“Plus you have to get through class and tire place waiting room first.”

“Good point,” I say and sling on my leather jacket, grab my bookbag and helmet. “You got your lunch ready?”

“Yep. And the twins have theirs too, although I had to remind Harper that Nutter Butters do not constitute a food group. I convinced him to put some jelly in a tupperware at least to maybe dip them in fruit?” she says and flounces out of the room.

“I’m not sure that counts,” I laugh and follow her as she rolls her eyes. I get the three of them out the door to catch the bus and then head to my own classes. The morning passes in a haze.

As I sit waiting on the station wagon tires to get changed over my lunch break, I try to get in some sketching. But it sucks. All of it is so...flat and uninspired that I wind up crumpling it up and just stare through the huge glass window, watching the workers as they go about their business.

I make it home and barely have time to brush my teeth and freshen up a bit. Not that I think I’ll be snuggling up to Graham, but I have no idea what sort of car he’ll be driving. I didn’t think he had one with him, based on the whole cab ride fiasco from our first date.

Thankfully, my gaggle of siblings hasn’t made it home from school yet when the doorbell rings. I glance out the window and groan a little. There’s a sleek black sedan parked on the curb. It’s so out of place in this neighborhood. Just like I feel when I open the door.

He’s in a tie. Again. At least there’s no blazer this time. Just a plain blue pullover sweater. But man am I underdressed in my khakis, boots, and blue gingham shirt hanging open over a Rosie the Riveter t-shirt. I look like I’m ready for welding and he looks like he’s ready for dancing.

“Hi,” he blurts out and thrusts a hand towards me, holding a bouquet of flowers. His cheeks are swiftly turning pink. “These are for you.”

Flowers. And I have no vase. At all. It’s just not something we own. What am I supposed to do with cut flowers? I mean, I might have an empty cup from my paint water, since I haven’t painted in awhile. But these flowers are gorgeous. Fragrant. Expensive. Probably delicate.

“Thank you,” I say and he glances around nervously. “I’ll just put these in some water.”

I turn around and make a face, unable to believe that I actually had to utter that line. Like I’m living some sort of cheesy rom-com. I make a quick search of the kitchen, but none of our glasses are tall enough to accommodate the long stems. I can either spend the next ten minutes cutting them down to maybe fit in a glass or…

My eyes land on the blender on the counter. We haven’t used it since the twin’s last birthday when they asked for milkshakes instead of cake. Maybe we used it to puree some apples and make applesauce? Either way, it’s currently available and conveniently tall. I pop off the lid, drop the flowers in, and fill it with water. I hurry back to Graham, who’s waiting awkwardly at the door.

“Shall we?” I ask and struggle for a second with the crappy lock on our door. He opens the car door for me, shuts it after my legs are safely inside. I run my hands over the soft fabric of the seat and stare at the spotless interior. It’s clearly been recently washed, vacuumed, and detailed. I should probably see about doing the same for the station wagon. It’s got at least half a dozen papers stashed in the fold of the visor, discarded paper goods in the back seat, a stain from a spilled coffee all over the carpet on the driver side. It’s just one of those things that got neglected.

I did just get new tires put on it, so I give myself a pass on the interior.

Graham slides into his seat and very carefully checks the mirrors before pulling out into the nonexistent residential traffic. His caution makes me smile for some reason.

“So, Savannah,” he says and I quirk one eyebrow at him. “I’m not exactly sure where I’m going.”

I give him directions, which substitutes for conversation and twenty minutes later, we’re parked and walking towards the museum. He pauses in the foyer and looks around for a moment but then motions off to the right.

“Counterclockwise? So we don’t miss anything.”

I’m not even sure what to say to that. “I guess that works.”

We wander down one section. Pausing in front of pieces for a few seconds. By about the sixth one, I can tell Graham is lost. His brows are furrowed and he keeps shuffling his feet. I should have taken pity on him and taken him to Fine Arts instead of Contemporary.

“Something wrong?” I ask him finally.

“No,” he says and I have to bite the inside of my cheek at his clear discomfort. “Can I ask you something?”

“Sure,” I say, because we’ve barely talked. I think we had more conversation going at the French restaurant.

“Is there...some kind of special technique or...purpose?” I laugh and Graham looks a little offended, but I can’t help it. It’s probably the most disjointed and yet _polite_ way I’ve heard someone asks what makes a pair of black rectangles surrounded by red paint count as art.

“Okay, try this,” I say and set my hands on his shoulders to push him towards the canvas on the wall. “Art is sometimes about what you feel, not what you see.”

He stands there for a moment, squinting and tilting his head. He stiffens and steps back from the canvas and glances down at me. I start explaining mixing pigments and how black often masks other colors in paintings, in this case...blue. How the artist might layer paints then scrape some away to create an image in layers. Or how the viewer might see one thing as being in the foreground, but in reality it was the first thing painted and exists in the background. Still he doesn’t speak so I drag him to another canvas, off our charted counterclockwise course.

“This one’s easy,” he says, sounding relieved. “It looks like a sunset over water.”

“Does it?”

“Makes me think of this lake we have back home,” he says, his voice almost wistful as he leans towards it a little.

We keep going and I find that his biggest problem with most of the paintings is the complete lack of defined lines. Maybe he’d favor the more linear works over the abstract.

“It’s like I’m looking through a fog,” he says as he holds his chin in his hand and tilts his head one way to the next.

“Maybe it’s supposed to feel that way,” I offer. He stands there for awhile and the only thing he says as we walk away is that his fog theory is shot with all that red mixed with the black at the bottom.

“Aha! That one is definitely a sunset over water,” he proclaims triumphantly and I laugh, more at his excitement than at his statement. But something in the painting has him rushing back to one of the others and looking close. Stepping back again. Then close. I watch a smile spread over his face as he looks up at me and says something I’m not expecting. “There is a special technique, isn’t there? Something about the brush strokes gives it...a texture? Like you were saying earlier with the scraping some of the paint off.”

“Something like that,” I say, a little surprised. But he keeps looking, each painting presenting almost a challenge to him. To find the hidden technique, the mixed pigments, or the brushstroke that sets this particular red rectangle apart from the last. Before I realize it, we’ve only seen half the exhibit and they’re announcing that the museum is about to close.

“I hadn’t realized how late it was,” Graham says, almost surprised as he looks at his watch. As we walk towards the car, he stuffs his hands in his pockets and seems to be deep in thought. He opens the door and as I’m moving to get in, he takes a deep breath that makes me stop. “Did you…did you want to get something to eat?”

I hadn’t planned on extending this date. I actually expected him to hurry us through the museum and drop me back at my home as soon as possible.

“Why?” I ask without really thinking.

“Because I’m hungry and it’s dinner time,” he says simply. Then his lips start to curl up in a smile. “How does a greasy burger and fries sound?”

“Better than snails,” I say and he laughs as I finish climbing into the car. I give him the name of a good burger joint and once we’re at the table, he rolls up his sleeves. I have an overwhelming urge to reach across the table and loosen the tie. Spring his collar loose so it’s not choking the poor guy.

He asks about my major and my classes while we wait for our food. Asks what sort of things I like to paint or draw.

“Not really rectangles but not the defined images of the Renaissance or earlier.”

“Huh, I’d like to see that some day,” he says and thankfully our food shows up before I have to tell him I’ve been in a drought lately.

Then we’re knuckle deep in greasy meat and I’ve learned the name of his skiing event -- Nordic Combined -- although I refuse to admit to him that I have no idea what that means. I’ll just go to the library tomorrow or something.

“So how do you prepare for that?” I ask and so begins a huge litany of training schedules and exercises that makes my head swim. I don’t understand about half the things he says, but I get a clear picture that this isn’t some random dream for him. It’s not something he’s doing for shits and giggles or on a whim. He’s been training for it his whole life. Every day since he could strap on a pair of skis. There’s a certain kind of gleam in his eyes as he talks about it, too. Almost like that moment in the museum when he asked about the special techniques behind the art and started looking for those. A determination, almost.

Somehow that leads to talking about his brothers, both of whom are athletes too. I wind up sharing, too. Telling him more about my crazy brothers and my sister, and how my Mom works so many hours that she’s hardly ever home, and when she is, the last thing she wants to do is be Mom. So in many ways, I wound up filling the part after our Dad disappeared.

“Where’d he go?”

“No idea,” I say with a shrug and something flickers in his eyes, but then he’s asking me about my classes and to pass the ketchup for his fries. Somewhere around dessert we make it back to family talk. He tells me about trying to keep his brother Ryen in line and his fear that one rambunctious brother will be a bad influence on the other. I can relate to that.

“Ryen’s got trouble running in his veins. I’m actually really glad he’s not here training with me because he almost always finds a way to embarrass me in front of girls.” I try not to choke on my burger or tell him that is very much a good thing because otherwise we probably wouldn't have made it to date number two to begin with. Graham didn’t exactly make a great impression on his own for date number one. Other than being nice. And warm.

I’m also still trying to figure out why we’re still out on this date. Then he smiles at me. It’s somehow different from the cologne ad smile I’m expecting. Not arrogant but almost indulgent. Like he’s annoyed by his brother’s antics but secretly loves him for it. And I have to swallow a large bite of my sundae.

Yikes.

“You seemed more annoyed with them last time. Can I ask what happened?”

“I got blamed for something Ryen did. Don’t get me wrong, I love my brothers, just...sometimes I want to strangle them, you know?”

“Oh I get it. The middle one...Ryen? He sounds like a real pill.”

“He is,” Graham says. “Ryen’s a right pain in the butt. But he’s...he’s got this way of living life full throttle, not caring about what people think of him or about doing things right or perfectly just...doing them. And sometimes...sometimes I almost envy him that. Then Peeta's...well he’s all heart. I’m convinced there isn’t a soul on the planet he can’t put at ease or make smile.”

I almost drop my spoon on the floor. “What about you? How do you live life?”

“Ah well, Ryen would probably tell you that I’m a stuck up perfectionist with no sense of fun. That’s um...okay so don’t get upset, but I actually had a date with Penelope that went horribly and she said that exact same thing about me. Then she suggested I needed to be around someone who put me completely out of my comfort zone and keep my mouth shut while doing it. Listening instead of trying to...arrange things to my liking.”

“Hence a blind date with me,” I say softly. I’m almost disappointed.

“Yeah,” Graham says and his eyes hold me in some sort of weird trance. “And I’m starting to think maybe she had a pretty good idea.”

My ears are hot. My pulse kicks into high gear with no warning.

Abort. My mind says softly. Then louder as I get the insane urge to lean across the table towards him and kiss him. ABORT!

“What time is it?” I ask, breaking the spell. I am not here to help Graham deal with some sort of existential crisis. I have enough to deal with.

“Ah, a little after eight.”

“Shoot. I have classes in the morning,” I say and turn in my seat to flag down our server.

“Oh. Here, let me,” he says and takes the check before I can even utter a protest. It’s paid for and done and then he’s resting his hand on the small of my back, holding the door open for me as we leave the restaurant. Opens the car door. Hurries around to do the same when we reach my house, and I’m so busy and flustered dealing with my seat belt that I actually give him enough time to do it. It’s when he offers me his hand to help me out that I lose it. I take his help, but I can’t take not asking about it anymore.

“Okay, what is with the old-school chivalry?”

“I don’t…don’t understand.”

“Is that part of the perfectionist thing? I can open my own door and I am perfectly capable of getting out of a car on my own.”

“I know you could,” he says and then smiles. “You drive a motorcycle. Honestly, I’m a little afraid you might kick me in the nuts one day.”

“What?”

“I’ve never dated a girl who wears leather or drives a Ninja. I mean, it’s not like I go on a lot of dates to begin with but--”

Ha! I have a hard time believing that.

“So what gave you the idea that I’d want flowers and doors opened for me?”

He thinks about that for a moment and then nods to himself, as if convincing himself that I can handle the truth. “I think it has more to do with who I am than who you are.”

“What?”

“That’s not really something I want to get into on a second date. I’d really like a third,” he says and seems to be a little flustered, quickly moving on before I can make sense of what he said. “So...Savannah, I had a really good time tonight.” He lifts my hand to his lips. And kisses it! Like he’s some kind of knight of old, asking for my favors. “I’ve had my eyes opened to a whole new idea of what constitutes art and I’d really like to see you again.”

“Are you seriously asking me for a third date?”

“Not yet,” he says and I scoff at him. Of course he’s not. “I’m leaving in two days and well, during that time, my schedule is a bit insane. But...I have your number, and your address. So if you’ll allow it, I’d like to call you and write while I’m gone.”

“Where exactly are you going?”

“For now, back to Wyoming. Then I’ll be a little bit of everywhere until February, when I’ll be back here.” For the Olympics. “And maybe then we can find time for that third date?”

I seriously doubt that. I can’t imagine that he’d find time for me during the Olympics. He’ll be far too busy. Besides, that’s months away. So much can happen in four months. And what's an Olympic athlete want with someone like me? I glance around the yard and the state of my life. It just...doesn’t fit.

“I’m not going to date you long distance. I don’t have time for that.”

“Okay. Then don’t think of it as dating for now. It’s letter writing and answering the phone,” he suggests with a smile.

“With the intention to date?” I ask skeptically.

“If you want to.”


	3. The Long Distance

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks everyone who's taken a risk on reading this pair and left me such lovely comments. I have the next chapter and a half drafted, so there might be a few rapid updates. After that, no idea. My thanks also to buttercupbadass and savvylark for pre-reading and cheerleading. You ladies rock. ;-)

“Savannah! Phone!”

“We’re not done talking about this.”

“It’s not a big deal!”

“The fact that you stole them is the big deal,” I say and Brianna shouts for me again. Harper crosses his arms over his chest and Garrett looks frightened. “I’ll be back in five minutes. After I deal with whatever this is about.”

“Who died and made you Mom?” Harper shouts after me and I ignore it. He’s just saying it as a defense mechanism.

Brianna is talking quietly to whoever it is on the phone and when I give her a questioning look, she shakes her head. Not Mom. I sigh and reach for the phone.

“Here she is,” Brianna says then hands it over.

“Hello?”

“Hey. Is this a bad time?”

I can’t believe he called me. It’s been a little over a week since our second date and I figured that was it.

“Graham?” I ask, just to be sure.

“Yes.”

“Look, um, this is kind of a bad time. So—“

“I can call back. When would be better for you?”

“Maybe early morning on Saturday?”

“Okay. I’ll call you at eight your time. Saturday.”

“My time? Wait where are you?”

“Right now, Wyoming. But I’m flying to Finland tomorrow,” he says and my jaw basically hits the floor. He’s got to be lying, right?

“Wait so you’re planning on calling me international?” I don’t mean to shout, but I do. And it gets Brianna’s attention.

“Is that...is that okay?” he asks. “I thought about sending a telegram, but I figured that might be overkill on the old school chivalry.”

For some reason, that makes me laugh and -- shockingly -- agree to eight on Saturday morning for a callback. We hang up and I roll up my sleeves to deal with my fifteen year old brother. He sulks as I stand there and watch while he pays for the movies he stole. It sucks, and I hate making him do it, but what else am I supposed to do? Thankfully, the store owner agrees not to press charges.

Harper won’t speak to me. It kills me. I try to coax him into understanding. But I don’t know how to do that without ruining the idea he has in his head of our father.

Five days later, Harper still isn’t talking to me, but the phone rings at eight a.m. sharp.

“Hey,” Graham says cheerfully when I tell him it’s me.

“So...you’re in Finland?”

“Until Monday. How are you doing?”

“Fine,” I tell him and ask how he’s doing instead. I listen as he speaks of his competition and while I still don’t understand half of what he’s saying, I do understand the enthusiasm in his voice. He asks about my classes and since that’s a safer topic than my family, I tell him how that’s going.

“I have to get going Savannah,” he says at one point. “Can I call you again next week? Same time?”

“Sure.”

On Wednesday, a letter arrives in the mail. Air mail post mark from Finland. I stare at it and sit heavily in the kitchen, still in my slacks and blouse from work. I flip the letter over and slide my finger under the flap. The postage and old style envelope with red and blue diagonal striping on the edges, the careful writing, it’s all so beautiful and strange that I’m almost afraid to open the thing and ruin it. Curiosity wins out.

_Dear Savannah,_

_I was thinking about that painting we saw. The one with the red mixed with black in a rectangle and the blue rectangles on top of it. I don’t know if you’ll remember but I felt as though I was looking through fog when I saw it. Well, there was some heavy fog here this morning and I’ve decided that’s all wrong. Fog softens edges, but also colors. That painting...the colors were too bold and saturated to be viewing something through fog. (Don’t be too impressed, I went to an art museum while I was here and talked to one of the curators to figure out the word I needed._ _~~Had to escape my father to do it but~~ _ _)_

_Anyways. Maybe it’s looking through rain. Or maybe fog at night. Guess I’ll have to wait to find out. There won’t be rain in Finland for several months. By then, I’ll be somewhere else._

_In the meantime, I thought of you when I saw this._

_I did have a question for you though. Would you rather have to eat snails once or cauliflower every day for an entire year? Say your life depended on it._

_\-- Graham_

I laugh at his question, so random and unexpected. Then I flip over the postcard he included. A stunning vista of a frost covered forest. Gorgeous. I don’t understand how something like that made him think of me, and shake my head, return to the words he crossed out.

_I had to escape my father to do it._

Escape his father? I wonder what that means, but there’s no answer in the letter and I’m about to make myself late for class if I don’t hurry.

Saturday morning, the phone rings again at eight on the dot.

“Points for punctuality,” I mutter to myself as Brianna hands me the phone with a knowing smile and mouthing the words _It’s Graham._

“Do I get cheese sauce or Ranch dressing with the cauliflower or do I have to eat it plain?” I ask and Brianna’s smile changes to a look of confusion.

“No condiments,” Graham says.

“Snails,” I answer.

“Really?”

“Well then it’s once and over with. But cauliflower every day for a year with nothing to liven up the taste? Blech.”

Graham laughs and says he’d rather eat the cauliflower. “At least it’s nutritious...and I’m already acquainted with how snails taste.”

He tells me about some of the artwork he saw in Finland and says he didn’t get a chance to visit a museum where he is now.

“Where are you now?”

“Norway.”

I want to ask if he’s still having to escape his dad and what exactly that means. But then the smoke detector goes off and I have to hang up and help Brianna deal with the mess.

“Is Mom up?” I ask when we’ve got the burned breakfast under control and Brianna shakes her head. I sigh and keep going. I still have things to take care of and work later today.

The letters arrive almost like clockwork in the middle of the week. From Norway, then Poland, Slovakia, Colorado. Each one contains a postcard of a landscape wherever he is. A paragraph or two about what he’s doing, something ridiculous one of his brothers just got away with. Along with a silly question or choice.

_Would you rather never see an ocean or never see another mountain again?_

_If you were stuck on a deserted island, who would you want to be marooned with? Three people. Go._

_You have to wear only one color for the rest of your life...what is it?_

_Favorite book and would you rather it be made into a movie or a ten episode HBO special?_

He calls every Saturday at the exact same time, and although the conversations are never very long, I find myself lingering in the kitchen early on Saturdays, almost anticipating them. When I mention that I feel bad about not answering the letters, he rushes to reassure me.

“There’s not really a good place for you to send an answer. That’s why I call you.”

When I mention that it’s got to be expensive to call me on international lines, “It’s not that bad. Calling cards aren’t nearly as much as a five course meal at a French restaurant.”

“I think I’d rather have the phone call than the fancy meal,” I tell him.

Sometimes his letters have a melancholy bent to them. Like he’s almost...lonely. Even though I know either his mother or his father or his grandfather are almost always with him.

“Is it weird having parental chaperones everywhere you go or is that just something you’re used to?”

“I guess...it’s kind of hard to explain. Mom’s been one of my coaches for years but with Ryen really starting to compete, she’s been with him more the past two years. She used to ski in the same events he does so she’s a better coach for him than she is for me. Last year I started doing some of this traveling alone, meeting up with my other coach, Todd at competitions. But this year...they all freaked a bit and Dad’s been traveling with me more. That’s been something to adjust to.”

“Why’d they freak?” I ask and then stop myself. “Oh. Right. Nevermind.”

I’ve never really flown anywhere so I’ve never thought about it, but for Graham, who obviously travels across the globe regularly, 9/11 would have had a much larger impact on his life.

“It must suck to have that taste of independence only to lose it again,” I say.

“It’s not so bad. Could be worse,” he says and for the first time in a month, there’s an awkward pause. I don’t like it.

“So where to next?”

“Back across the pond. Germany,” he says. “How’d your finals go?”

It’s a lot easier telling him about my finals than it is the fact that I had to go into my old high school the other day to collect my now suspended brother for bringing pornography to school. Then before I know it, our time is up. But I know there will be a letter in a few days.

_Dear Savannah,_

_I always love coming home. It’s corny and cheesy and I know you’ll probably laugh at me for it, but something about seeing the vast stretches of land beneath the plane, and the Rockies reaching up towards the sky just takes my breath away every time. I’m lucky, I know that. Most people here don’t ever get the chance to go the places I go or see the things that I do. Coming home still wins for me, though._

_This week I went to a museum about the pioneers of the west. Not art, but still interesting. That’s where this week’s postcard is from._

_If you could pick any two Winter Olympic events to go see -- besides mine ;-) -- which ones would you pick?_

_\-- Graham_

I collect the letters and postcards in an old shoe box and tie it shut with a red ribbon from the one year I thought I might give cheerleading a try. The shoebox stays tucked beneath my bed most of the time.

“How is Germany?”

“Depends. How do you feel about bratwurst?”

“I hear it’s delicious.”

“You hear right. I just got lectured about pre-competition diets, though.”

“I assume that since you’re in Germany, there are Germans who compete in your sport?”

“There are...and they do very well.”

“Then I don’t think one bratwurst is going to hurt you.”

“What about five?” I laugh and turn away from Brianna’s prying eyes. Oh how I wish we had a cordless right about now. “Did you do anything exciting for New Year’s?”

“Not really.” _Thought about kissing you._ But that makes zero sense. I’ve barely spent half a day altogether in his presence. “Stefan and I drank sprite, ate cherries, and watched the ball drop while avoiding both our mothers.”

“Sounds about like my New Year. Minus the Stefan. Who’s Stefan? I’m sorry if you’ve mentioned him before--”

“No, no!” I rush to reassure him. “I don't think I have. Stefan’s a friend of mine from class.”

Graham asks a little more about Stefan and that somehow fills our time, which I’ve come to realize Graham keeps careful track of. I’ve been meaning to ask about why he does that. If it’s a simple way of rationing his precious calling card time or if it’s something more...rigid.

“Shoot, I have to go, Savannah. But before I do, the question I asked in my letter?”

“I really want to say speed skating and the Opening Ceremonies, but I also really want to see some figure skating. So I’m cheating and saying that the Opening Ceremonies should just automatically be included and not count against one of my events.”

“Awesome. Great. Now I really have to go--”

“Graham!” Someone shouts for him in the background. A woman’s voice. Commanding and harsh. And as he hastily says goodbye, I wonder if it’s his mother.

“It’s serious, isn’t it?” my mother asks one day in January when I hand her the mail, withholding the latest letter from Graham for myself and smiling at his careful, elegant writing.

“I don’t...I don’t know,” I say softly and she sighs. My foolish smile slips away, sand through fingers, gone in an instant.

“You’re gonna get your heart broken again, Savannah.”

“He’s not like Dad. Or any of the others,” I say. Because really, he’s not.

My mother eyes me and then grabs her purse. “Just remember we need you here. Not running off on some far fetched romance that’ll never last.”

I wince as the door slams shut behind her and look around at the house. The list of bills and appointments tacked to the bulletin board. A reminder for Harper’s court date for the speeding ticket he got earlier this week. Four days after getting his license.

Stuffing the letter in my bag, I head out for my afternoon class, grateful for the loud sounds of the motorcycle droning in my ears, a constant and dependable whir. Parking my bike, I hurry through campus and slouch down in my seat, pull out the letter from Graham and stare at it. He was in Italy and then Austria last week. The postage on this one marks it’s journey to me from Italy. I’m about to open the letter when Stefan, my only real friend at school, plops down next to me and I stuff it beneath my notebook.

“Hey, Sav. How’s it hanging?”

“Grey and dull with a side of nasty mother.”

“Ugh. Sorry to hear it.”

“How about you?”

“Mom found a new diet for me to try.”

“Another one?” I ask and he nods. His mother seems to think he needs to lose about fifty pounds but I think Stefan’s perfect as he is. He’s sweet and thoughtful and handsome and he designs the most amazing characters and renders them in computer animation. It’s stunning what he can do with a decent computer. He’s also a great friend and I hate that his mother insists on making him feel awful about his weight. “What’s this one?”

“It’s called Atkins. I get to eat all the bacon I want, but no bread.”

“That’s ridiculous.”

“I know. I mean, how am I supposed to have a BLT sandwich without the bread?”

“Appalling,” I agree and he chuckles. “I’ll bring carbs for study snacks.”

“Please,” he says. The professor walks in and sets right to work. “So can we push both our Mom’s off a cliff? Maybe stage it as a Thelma and Louise for them?”

“I wish,” I mutter to him. “But Harper would never forgive me.”

“When’s his court date?”

“Thursday.”

“Right. Burgers on me, Friday?”

“You buy the meat, I’ll buy the buns.” He snorts softly and then the professor catches our eyes and we stop talking. After an hour of dutiful note taking, we’re dismissed and I gather up my things.

“Hey what’s this?” Stefan asks and leans down to pick something up off the floor. I catch sight of the red and blue striping on the envelope and blush.

“Oh that’s mine,” I say and reach for it, but Stefan pulls it out of my grasp and smiles.

“Italy? Is this French restaurant guy? The one Penelope set you up with?”

“Yes.”

“I know you said he’s been in touch but geez. Italy? How’s Penelope know a guy from Italy? Or did he join the military?”

“He’s from Wyoming,” I explain. “Not military. He just...travels a lot.”

Stefan lifts one eyebrow at me and I sigh. “Okay you cannot laugh, but he’s some kind of professional athlete.”

“Thought you said he was a preppy guy?”

“That’s how he dresses. He’s competing in the Olympics next month. Something called the Nordic Combined.”

“The Nordic whatsit?”

“That’s what I said too,” I say and manage to get my letter out of his hand. “I keep meaning to go look it up and never get around to it.”

“And he’s been writing you letters from all over the world?”

“And calling every Saturday.”

“Wait like on a schedule?”

“Yeah, he’s kind of precise and methodical. Punctual.”

“So basically nothing like the guys you’ve dated before.” Stefan’s shoulders shake with laughter and I drag him out of the now empty classroom.

“Look, all I know is he said he’d call to set up a second date, and then he did. He said he wanted to write and call me while he was gone, and he has.”

“Oh so unlike John who kept you hanging for like six months--”

“He says he’ll call at eight in the morning on Saturday, and that’s when he calls. If he says he’ll pick me up at three, he’s there at three.”

“Unlike Matthias who showed up unannounced at the worst times or stood you up on a whim because _The Muse called to me_ ,” Stefan bats his eyes and flutters his hands.

“It’s like this Nordic whatsit thing,” I forge onwards. “He said his grandfather got a gold medal in it like back in the sixties and now he wants to do the same thing. And I kind of believe he’ll actually pull it off. He’s very dedicated to it.”

“Ah so that’d be Heath’s total opposite.” I glare at Stefan and he smiles. He would drag out every one of my significant ex’s and their total lack of reliability. Heath had big musical dreams but was more likely to be found lounging in a cafe, whining about when someone would recognize his talents than actually developing said talents or pursuing his dreams.

“And he...listens. Shockingly. Like when he took me to Contemporary. Maybe he didn’t _get_ the art, but he had a real appreciation for the work that went into making it. The techniques.”

“Wow,” Stefan breathes, his eyes wide.

“What?”

“You really like this guy.”

“I don’t. No, I mean, he’s nice. For a preppy jock.”

“You know what we need to do?”

“No,” I say a little confused as Stefan taps a finger on his lips.

“Library.”

“Library?”

“Library.”

He grabs my hand and we hurry across patches of snow to the library. Hurry to the counter to sign ourselves in for computer use.

“You get one too,” Stefan tells me once we’re at the counter.

“Okay,” I say. A few minutes later, we’re seated next to each other and logged on. Stefan reaches over to my desktop and opens Yahoo. Types in _Nordic Combined_ and smacks the enter key. He turns back to his and starts a different search, for videos. He holds his chin in his hand and taps his cheeks as he waits for his to load.

“What’s it say?” he asks me and I glance back at my screen.

“Um...okay let’s see what this site says...Nordic combined is a winter sporting event consisting of a cross country ski race and ski jumps...ski jumps what exactly does that mean?”

“Give me...three minutes here,” Stefan says and refines his search. Then he digs out a set of headphones from his bag to plug into the computer. “What else does yours say?”

I skim for a minute and then scroll back up. “Wait...there aren’t any women listed here.”

“Huh?”

“It’s an all male sport!” I hiss indignantly. Well I think I found Graham’s fatal flaw.

“Okay, come here. It’s almost done downloading,” Stefan says. We squish together to watch and twist the cups on his headphones so we can both hear. Then I watch as some guy in a spandex suit with no ski poles zooms down a massively steep ramp. Airborne for a few seconds -- body rigid and skis forming a V -- and both Stefan and I jerk back as the guy lands and keeps sliding downhill before twisting his hips and skis to stop. There are a few more clips cut in with falls and spills that look like someone could break their neck doing them. One more jump with a clean landing near the end.

When the video ends, Stefan looks at me, wide eyed as a manic laughter bubbles out of my mouth and I shake my head.

“No way,” I whisper. “There is no way the buttoned up, preppy guy who always wears a tie and opens doors and writes _letters_ instead of sending emails...No! The guy that I’ve been talking to...does not do _that_ on a regular basis.” I point at the screen and Stefan glances back at it for a second.

“That’s a ski jump, Sav. And if what you found about this Nordic whatsit thing is right and he hasn’t lied to you...then he does do exactly that. And then skis for fifteen kilometers.”

“Impossible!”

“Why?”

“It doesn’t fit! It’s like saying he goes spelunking or sky diving on the weekends!”

“Okay, well...what’s his name again?”

“Graham Mellark,” I mutter and hide my face in my hands as I spell the last name. “It makes no sense. That’s...that’s dangerous and wild and...and explains why he knew how to put on a helmet so fast…” I make a dying animal noise and shake my head.

“Savannah…” I look up at Stefan and he points towards his screen. “Is this him?”

“Yes,” I groan and hide my face again so I don’t have to look at the photos with Graham in one of those ski suit things, chugging away in a race, smiling afterwards. Because holy shit he’s built. I mean, I suspected as much, but seeing it is a whole other thing. Maybe they photoshopped him to make him look more muscular? And there he is jumping off ramps like an adrenaline junkie. “Not what I was expecting when he said it’s what his _grandfather_ medaled in ages ago. What the hell did I get myself into?”

“Nothing just yet,” Stefan reminds me with a smile. “What’s the latest letter say?”

I fling myself at my bag and dig it back out. I’m slightly less careful with the envelope this time. The letter is short and sweet.

_For you and a friend, or your sister. Hope to see you there._

_\-- Graham_

There’s no post card this time and I’m almost disappointed, but there are a couple pages printed from offline.

“Holy shit, Sav,” Stefan breathes as we stare at the printout detailing how I can claim my passes to the XIX Games of the Winter Olympiad. Opening Ceremonies, a couple of speed skating races, a pairs figure skating event, and of course...the Nordic Combined.


	4. The Third Date

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the last of the chapters I currently have ready to go for this pair. There will be more to their story! It just likely won't be posted soon. Next chapter is tripping me up on dialogue. Ugh dinner scenes are not my forte. Anyways, many thanks to savvylark and buttercupbadass -- muse and beta readers extraordinaire. 
> 
> The Author's Note at the bottom of the chapter contains a bunch of information on how Nordic Combined works. I keep meaning to put it into "Outside Chance" but ha! So I'm putting it here. It's more applicable to this story anyways. Also, this didn't fit with character limits, so here ya go: 
> 
> http://www.fis-ski.com/nordic-combined/
> 
> https://www.nytimes.com/2018/02/21/sports/olympics/womens-nordic-combined.html
> 
> https://www.steamboatpilot.com/news/7-events-added-to-2022-beijing-winter-games-womens-nordic-combined-misses-cut/

**_Salt Lake City - February 2002_ **

Brianna won’t shut up about the opening ceremonies. She talks for at least an hour about how _cool_ they were, starting in the stands before we even leave. The entire drive home. Our mother listens once we reach the house, but I can tell she’s about ready to lay into me. Now that’ll be embarrassing, since I just had to ground Harper for yet another speeding ticket. At least this one was only five over the limit, unlike last time when he was clocked at almost fifteen over the limit and assigned to driving courses in lieu of having his license revoked.

As my sister floats around the kitchen, my mother calmly sips from her ginger ale and nods.

“Oh my gosh that was awesome, Savannah! Thank you for taking me!” She finishes and gives me a huge hug. Mom tells Brianna to scoot on to bed since she has work tomorrow. She gets in one last bit of gushing that I wish she’d saved for between just the two of us. “I _really_ like your new boyfriend. Can’t wait to actually meet him.”

We sit there as Brianna hurries down the hall and I wait for the verdict. My mother simply stands with a sigh and plugs the sink to fill it with water and wash dishes.

“I should get to bed, too. Early morning,” I say.

“This young man...I want to meet him if you’re going to keep seeing him.”

“Mom, we’ve only gone on a few dates.”

“And yet you’re spending nine days going to the Olympics to see him compete.”

“Not all of those are to see him compete.” Only six of them are for that. “And he doesn’t expect me to be at everything. He just wanted to give me options to work my schedule around.”

“He’s turning your head with fancy gifts. This doesn’t end like _Pretty Woman_ , Savannah.”

“That’s not—“

I stop before I finish, because I don’t know for sure that he’s not. He could still be trying to impress me with the fancy life he leads. Mom turns off the water and begins washing.

“Does he have a stable job? Or is he going to jet around the globe skiing and chasing ludicrous dreams until he’s sixty?”

“He’s only twenty, Mom. Like me.”

“You have a stable job.”

“That’s different.”

“Savannah…” Her hands splash in the soapy water and she turns her head to fix me with a stern look. “It’s not different. Get your head out of the clouds and wake up. You’re a beautiful young woman, and just a fun stop in this boy’s life. He’s buying your affection and next it’ll be sex and pregnancy scares and then you can wave goodbye to both your little romance and your life. I don’t want you to get torn apart by life like I did. What do you really know about this boy anyways?”

“That’s not going to happen to me,” I insist.

“Don’t be so naive,” my mother says and returns to washing the dishes. I stare silently at her back. Normally, I’d offer to help her but tonight, I just can’t bring myself to do it.

I take my time in the bathroom. The house is dark by the time I trudge to bed and I lay there, staring out through the slats in my blinds and listening to Brianna’s deep sleep breathing.

In the morning, I wake before dawn and dress in layers, as much as I can. I watch through the front window for Stefan, and as soon as his car slows in front of my house, I’m out the door. I don’t plan on ruining my life or falling prey to the same illusions that my mother did. I’m smarter than that. But I’m not going to waste this chance to experience the thrill of sitting in the stands at the Olympics and actually knowing one of the athletes. I may never get this chance again.

“Hey,” Stefan greets as I slide into my seat and he drives. I dig the directions out of my bag and give him the first one to get us started. Once we’re headed out of the city up towards the mountains, Stefan keeps flicking his eyes over towards me. “Is everything okay?”

“Mom thinks Graham is buying my affection and plans on knocking me up first chance he gets then disappearing like Dad did.”

“Pffft,” Stefan scoffs. “She’s on that kick again? How is it that it doesn’t matter who you date, her prediction always ends with you pregnant and alone?”

“I don’t know,” I say and set my booted feet on the dashboard. “I guess she’s just worried I’m going to end up like her. Alone with four kids and nothing but bills, bills, bills. She does this every time I date someone seriously.”

“So it’s serious with Graham now?”

“No!” I say and we sit quietly as he drives. “I mean, maybe. I don’t know. I kind of like him.”

“Well I like him.”

“You haven’t even met him.”

“I’m giving him the benefit of the doubt. He didn’t freak or get all weirdly possessive after you told him your best friend is a dude. Instead, he got us tickets to see the Olympics.”

“Oh so he’s buying _your_ affections,” I say with a laugh.

“If carbs are involved today, I’m sorry, you’re just gonna have to marry this guy, Sav.”

I’m so glad I decided to bring Stefan to this today and for the cross country portion tomorrow. We’re going to have fun. As we drive further into the mountains, my mother’s warnings lift away and excitement starts to dance inside my veins. By the time we finish with transportation and security and make our way to the stands, there’s something thrilling in the air.

“It’s probably too late to ask this but...is his family gonna be here? And do they know that _you’re_ here?” Stefan asks and my stomach bottoms out.

“Oh god. I hadn’t even thought of that.”

“Hey. No big deal, right? It’s not like they have a picture of you. For all they know, we’re just a couple of people in the stands.”

“If we cheer for all the Americans, no one will know the difference,” I agree.

“Incognito mode...activated,” Stefan says and slides on his sunglasses as I laugh.

“Did you bring the binoculars?” I ask as we settle into seats. Graham suggested I bring a pair to make watching the jumps easier.

“Yep. I’m still wrapping my head around that hill,” he says as he hands me the binoculars. I take a moment to get them in focus and look at the thing.

“You and me both,” I say. There’s some movement up at the top, and I watch that for a minute before a commotion catches my attention.

“Come on, Runt. Last one up’s a rotten egg.”

“Hey! You tripped me! Not fair, Ryen!”

I lower the binoculars and watch a boy clamber into the stands. He’s probably around thirteen, a smug smirk on his face as he straddles one of the bleachers. He makes an obnoxious face, pounds out a quick rhythm on the metal planks. The second, younger boy makes it up into the stands then. He looks to be about nine or ten. He’s brushing snow off his hat and the stuff peppers the knees of his snow pants, his cheeks flushed and his ash blonde curls in disarray.

“What’re you gonna do about it?” Ryen asks.

“I’ll tell Mom--”

“Ha!”

“-- where you were last night.”

The youngest one slips his hat back on his head as Ryen’s face turns red and I bite back a smile at the triumph in the younger brother’s eyes. Because these two are clearly brothers.

“No you won’t. ‘Cuz if you do, I’ll tell her about that board hiding in your closet at home.”

“My skateboard?”

“Nope. The other one.” Now it’s Peeta’s turn to turn red in the face.

“Ryen, Peeta, I told you not to run off like that.” A man joins them and Ryen spreads out across the bleachers.

“We’re fine, Dad,” Ryen says and the father sighs.

“Did you at least find us seats?”

“Take your pick. Not like there’s a huge crowd for this. Not like there will be for me. Oof!” The dad eyes the two brothers, but whatever Peeta did to Ryen, even I missed it.

And now I know whose brothers they are. Not just because of the names. Their ages are about right, and I can see the personalities Graham’s described to me. I elbow Stefan and jerk my head down towards the small family. _His dad and his brothers_ , I mouth to him. Stefan watches them for a minute before leaning towards me.

“You sure?” he whispers and I nod.

A few more people file into the stands, separating us from Graham’s family, but I can’t help observing them a little as the jumps progress. I feel slightly guilty about not introducing myself to them, but then again, I have no idea how much Graham has told them about me. If anything.

At one point, a second man and a young girl join Graham’s family. Both of them have dark olive toned skin, and dark hair. His hangs loose to his shoulders and hers is braided down her back, a knit cap on her head. I have no reference for who these two are, but the girl heads straight to them, sits close to Peeta and whispers to him, excitement in her eyes and features. The two men sit on the ends, bracketing the three kids. The adults barely speak, but Ryen seems interested in what the girl is saying to his brother until she plants her hand on his face and shoves him away. He basically falls out of his seat, garnering the attention of the two adults.

“You alright?”

“Yeah, Dad. Fine. Just lost my balance,” Ryen mutters and makes a face at the girl while Peeta hides his laughter behind his gloved hand.

Sitting still in the cold does little to keep us warm, so Stefan produces hot chocolate in a thermos, and I share the snacks I brought with me. Each jump is over so fast, although it’s a rush watching them. Eventually, the name we’re waiting for is called.

“Representing the United States of America, Graham Mellark.” I focus the binoculars at the top of the ramp to watch him set up.

“Hey, hey, pay attention. It's your brother’s turn,” I hear his dad say.

“All this waiting for one jump,” Ryen whines and then makes a snoring noise.

“You’re just mad that you don’t get to jump like this,” Peeta mutters.

“I’m built for speed. What’re you built for again, Runt? Plowing into snowbanks?”

“Enough, boys.”

After that, I don’t hear a thing. It’s so strange, how sound just vanishes when you hold your breath sometimes. Graham flies down the hill, crouched over his skis. Then with a sudden straightening of the knees and a shift of his arms, he’s airborne. I drop the binoculars and blink to refocus my eyes. Watch him soar, then land. It’s almost... graceful.

Stefan nudges me, bringing me out of my weird trance, and I join the applause. As the jumps continue, my thoughts churn and my fingers itch. By the time, the jumps are done, Graham’s brothers and dad have already left, but I wasn’t looking to gain an introduction to his family today anyways. Like I told my mom, it’s only been a couple of dates.

And weekly letters and phone calls for a few months.

Tomorrow, I have tickets to watch Graham in the second part of this event — a 15kM cross country ski race. Not something I ever expected to do, but for some reason, as I sit in the kitchen at home warming up after the frosty day in the stands, I pull out a sketch book and start drawing lines. Curves flow from my pencil and I’m not exactly sure what I’m trying to achieve, but I keep drawing.

The phone rings, and I rush to answer, almost spilling my tea onto my sketchbook in my haste. Somehow, I know it’s him.

“Hello?”

“Hey. Savannah?”

“Do I sound different on a domestic line?”

“No, I just wanted to be sure.”

“Saw your jump today,” I tell him.

“You were there?”

“Uh-huh. Also pretty sure I spotted your troublemaking brothers in the stands.”

“Oh?”

“Both blonde, Ryen calls Peeta ‘runt’...” Graham sighs at my words and I bite my lip, thinking of my own troublemaking brother and how I still haven’t figured out what to do about him.

“Oh great. I always love to make good first impressions.” I can’t help but chuckle at that.

“By the way, I think your youngest brother can hold his own. I wouldn’t worry about him too much.”

“You got all that from seeing them in the stands?”

“I’m very observant,” I say. “Who’s the girl?”

“That would be Katniss. She’s Peeta’s best friend and shaping up to be a really strong cross country skier. So what did you think? Of the jumps.”

“Is there a special technique or … purpose?” Graham laughs at my question and my cheeks warm.

“It’s not something you wake up one morning and just decide to try out once for the hell of it. It takes a lot of work. Kind of like your art,” Graham says.

“The real question is what you thought of them. If I’ve got this right, your jump distance determines how far back you start the race tomorrow?”

“That’s right,” he says softly. “You’ve been listening.”

“Sort of,” I admit. “I may have looked it all up to help make more sense of it, but honestly, seeing it is still the best way of learning for me. An up close look, if you will.”

“I can appreciate that,” he says. “I’m not _thrilled_ with how I did.”

“Still in the top half of the field,” I remind him and he releases a breath of air. “How strong of a skier are you?”

“Pretty good.”

“Then you’ll have a chance to make some of it up, yeah?”

“Yeah. Will you be there tomorrow?”

“I plan on being there. With Stefan again. I took Brianna to the Opening Ceremonies. And if you were looking to score points with my sister, that about did it for life.”

“I’m more concerned about how my points stand with you,” Graham says and keeps talking before I can formulate a response. “What are you doing on Saturday?”

“I have to work in the morning, but I don’t have any plans yet for the evening.”

“Can I see you? Maybe you know a good a place where we can get coffee?”

I agree and then give him my cell phone number so we can finalize details as it gets closer to Saturday. Because I honestly don’t want him to have to answer to my mom right now.

It’s a bit of a juggling act between classes, work, and the events Graham got me passes to see, but I manage. I take Brianna to see the pairs figure skating. Stefan and I go hoarse at the speed skating race when Apolo Ohno wins gold. I spend hours in the cold, watching Graham compete in a sport I barely knew a thing about until a few weeks ago. Like the first day, Stefan brings the hot chocolate, I bring the snacks. I get a feel for the repetition and routine of Graham’s world. I sketch fleeting glimpses. Breathe in deep the cold winter air, somehow fresh and not as stifling up here in the mountains, away from the city. It’s invigorating.

Then there’s the sight of Graham in his ski suit that hugs muscle and reveals how hard he works as he skis. Even from the stands, the images are burned in my blood and have me practically sweating late at night. I am not the type of girl who swoons over muscle bound jocks, but in my more honest moments, when my mother is nowhere nearby to judge me or make me feel foolish, I admit it to myself...

I want him to kiss me.

Maybe because I want to taste the disappointment and know that I was right months ago. That we’ll never work. But there’s a tiny part of me that wants to taste something else in his kiss. I’m not sure what, and it feels so foolish and naive to hope for something like that. But I want to know what hides under Graham Mellark’s starched shirt collars. How exactly to get beneath the meticulous nature and get him hot under that collar. Because fine, I’ll admit it. I’m already hot under my collar. I’ve lived close to a week of feasting my eyes on his muscular arms and legs as they pump and propel him closer to his goal. His taut buttocks encased in spandex that I’ve stared at far more than I’d like to admit...and then dreaming about at night. Fine. I am attracted to him.

I wonder if he’d let me draw him nude? Maybe with just a pair of skimpy shorts on?

There’s more excitement at the end of the first week, when the four man US team finishes the Nordic Combined team event in fourth. So close to a medal. Stefan and I get caught up in the excitement and wind up hanging around Park City afterwards just to soak up some of the magic.

I’m still riding that excitement when I walk into the cafe on Saturday and Graham’s already there, waiting for me. It’s the first time we’ve seen each other face to face in four months, although we’ve talked every single day this week. My insides flutter like butterfly wings, and his smile warms me to my toes.

I’m not sure if I’m imagining things, but he seems almost as happy to see me as I am to see him. And for once, he’s not wearing a tie. I laugh at my thoughts and my fingers pluck at the open collar of his fleece jacket declaring that he’s part of Team USA.

“What?” he asks.

“I almost expected to see you with a tie on your ski suit,” I tease and his cheeks turn pink. There’s no line though, and it’s our turn to order, so I let go of his jacket.

When we’re seated with our coffee, knees brushing under the table, words seem to flow more easily between us. I don’t remember his eyes being that deep, or his laugh being that warm. Does a phone line strip tones and depth from a voice?

We’ve been restricted to ten or twenty minutes at a time, and now that that particular limitation is gone, I can’t seem to stop talking. I ramble about my classes and Stefan and Brianna and how much fun the past week has been spending time with them and getting to do something as amazing as watch the Olympics live, in person. We talk a little about the hullabaloo over the figure skating judges, and Graham tells me that’s one thing he loves about his sport. It’s defined by metrics that leave less room for favoritism or paid off judges. Although there’s some room for it with style on the jumps, time and distance are always impartial and fair.

Then we move on. How I’ve started sketching again, inspired by the lines of motion in the athletes. I keep my less clean thoughts to myself for now. But as I talk about all the amazing things I’ve gotten to see the past week, it occurs to me that this isn’t special for him. It’s his everyday life, traveling and living things most people would consider once-in-a-lifetime experiences. Only he experiences them on a regular basis. It makes me think of my mother’s warnings and I shift uncomfortably. I’m not sure I fit in a world like that. At least I know where I fit in my world.

“Can I ask you something?” I stop myself from embarrassing myself with one question and switch to another that’s been pestering me. “Why are there no women competing in the Nordic Combined?”

“Oh that’s because of a bunch of stodgy old guys claiming it’s too tough on a woman’s body. It’ll change soon,” he says with a shrug. “Women’s ski jumping is gaining traction to be included in the Olympics, so once that’s established, it’s really only a matter of time before there’s a women’s division for Nordic Combined.”

“I guess,” I say, and wrinkle my nose.

“I’d like to think it’ll be very soon. I mean, it’s wrong to exclude like that, and there are plenty of women athletes who could compete easily. And you know, what if I have daughters who want to give it a try? I don’t want anyone to tell them they can’t.”

His words make me freeze and stare into his eyes as I ask, “So, you want kids?”

“Yeah. Some day. Not now, obviously.”

“Obviously. Need a partner first.”

“True, although I’m not sure that’ll be nearly as difficult as I once thought it’d be,” he says with that slow, almost indulgent smile. Like he knows something about me that I don’t or he knows the direction my midnight wonderings have taken lately. Whatever it is, it stirs up the butterflies again. A swarm of them. A swirling, cold white winter swarm of butterflies that leave an almost unbearable heat in their wake.

“I have...another question,” I say to distract myself from the intensity in his gaze. “What exactly does a world-traveling athlete see in someone like me?”

Graham shifts in his chair and spins his coffee cup on the table before answering. “You’re...easy to talk to.”

“So what you really need is a therapist.”

“No,” he says with a tilt of his head. “I mean...you don’t judge people. You let them be who they are, flaws and all, and find something good in them. Something to...encourage, if that makes sense. And I really do like talking to you.”

“So you’re lonely when you travel?” I suspected as much from his letters, but I’m surprised he’s actually admitting it.

“Maybe a little,” he admits with a shrug. “What about you?”

“What about me?”

“You keep agreeing to one more date with me.”

“This isn’t a date. You’re not even wearing a tie.”

He smiles and glances down at the table for just a second, but when he looks at me again, there’s no hurt or embarrassment in his eyes.

“It is a date if you let me see you home.” I scrunch up my nose at his old world turn of phrase and shake my head. Then his eyes drop to the table again and his hand slides across the scuffed wooden surface until his fingers twine with mine. Warm and comforting, but with a slight zing of a thrill that leaps up my arm. “Or if I do this...then does it count as a date?”

“Maybe,” I say, hoping I don’t sound as breathless as I feel. It’s just hand holding. I shouldn’t be this affected by it.

“The real question is why someone like you keeps agreeing to see a stuck up, rigid jock.”

“I have a weakness for men in spandex,” I say and his eyes jump up to mine right before he bursts out laughing.

He doesn’t let go of my hand as we keep talking. I’m glad he doesn’t. He talks a lot about his sport, and I get more details on how he’s honed and perfected techniques. How he has to balance the requirements for two different disciplines, one requiring explosive power, agility, and balance...the other one requiring endurance, coordination, and strength. It makes a lot more sense to me now that I’ve actually watched him in action, and I’m able to ask questions that don’t make me sound ignorant. His restrained excitement as he talks about it all reminds me that maybe this is special to him as well. It is his first Olympics, after all. Although I seriously doubt it’ll be his last.

He tells me all about his home in Wyoming, the ski resort his grandfather owns. How his brothers and dad were only here for his first event because they both have school and training and other things. Plus his dad is the head chef at his family’s ski resort and hates to be gone for more than a few days at a time if it can be helped. He tells me stories about working in the lobby café, in the kitchens, or the equipment rental desk, all over the resort, really. I bite back my smile as I realize my mother was wrong. I was wrong. Maybe Graham’s never had to struggle for money, maybe his life’s always been secure, but that doesn’t mean he hasn’t had to work hard to get where he is.

But there’s also something stiff in the way he talks about his parents. Almost detached, and I start to form a picture of taciturn parents with high expectations. No warm hugs or fanciful bedtime stories in the Mellark household, but a set of rigidly outlined goals, rules governing decorum and conduct especially in public, and endless training schedules. What must it have been like to grow up in a house like that? One that feels more like military training than a home.

I almost feel sorry for Graham and his brothers. No wonder Ryen and Peeta ran a little wild here when there were no adults to supervise. But it explains who Graham is and why. It also makes me more determined to work his collar loose and find out how far I can push him. He’s not completely stuffy, after all. There’s a quiet, almost quirky sense of fun that I’ve seen in him. That I want to see more of.

I share a few of my own stories about working in retail and how I’ve learned to appeal to the image people want to project of themselves to increase my sales. How awful that sometimes makes me feel.

“You’d be good at public relations,” he says, and although the comment is casual, it makes me pause for a moment. One of the things I’ve struggled with so much has been my desire to pursue art versus my need for a fat, steady paycheck. But this...this casual comment of Graham’s has my brain shifting into a whole new arena. There’s some creativity involved in public relations. And besides, I could still study and pursue art, no matter what career path I follow. Right?

“Scuse me, sorry to interrupt, but we’re about to start closing,” one of the baristas says and Graham’s eyes look about as wide as mine feel as he checks his watch.

“Oh. Sorry about that,” he says. We quickly finish our drinks and deal with our trash. “How’d you get here? You didn’t ride your bike in this weather, did you?”

“Brianna dropped me off. I was supposed to call her to get a ride home.”

“I can take you,” Graham says and leads me towards another sleek black sedan, identical to the one from our second date. Maybe it is the same one, I can’t be sure. There are no personal touches on the car. This time, though, it’s got chalky white coated along the bottom. Road salt and winter mess. But he opens the door for me and I call Brianna as we drive to let her know I’m on my way home and not to worry or wait up.

After that, we’re quiet on the drive and I drag my feet along the walkway to the front door.

“I’m really glad you’ve been there the past few days. It’s been...nice knowing that you’re watching and maybe even rooting for me.”

“It’s been fun. And Stefan and I have had a blast. He says ‘thanks’ by the way. And...wants to meet you. Unless you’ve decided that this was fun but that’s about it for us.”

“Did you want that to be it?” he asks and I turn to face him, my keys jingling between my fingers. “Because I was thinking I’d like to take you out to dinner again. My grandfather will still be in town for the sprint and the closing ceremonies and...I was hoping to introduce you to him.”

Holy shit.

I blink instead of saying anything. I think maybe I’ve swallowed my tongue.

“We’ve only been on two dates,” I finally say and Graham ducks his head.

“Too fast, huh? I’m sorry it’s...when I know what I want I just…”

“Go after it?” I ask, a little afraid to ask what exactly it is he wants. He lifts his head again and for one second, I feel like I’m standing in a void with just him and me.

“Even if it takes time. I can be patient. But I don’t give up.”

He leans towards me then, his face close to mine and he stops just short of kissing me. I sway on my feet, rest my hands on his shoulders in reflex. Then his lips are on mine. Our noses bump and his lips are so puckered it feels like I’m kissing a rock.

It must show on my face when he pulls back. What an awkward kiss. Not at all what I’ve been imagining from someone who pulls out all the romance with flowers and fancy restaurants and letters and... It’s almost like that was his first kiss. I really hope it wasn’t.

“Wait. I can...I can do better than that,” he gasps and I freeze. I stand there, trying not to pant as he slides his gloves off his hands, tucks them in his pocket. Then his fingers are on my cheeks, curving over my ears then down my neck as his eyes lock with mine. I’ve always thought arms had to be involved to call an action an embrace, but the way he looks at me...it’s an embrace of the eyes. His warm thumbs brush over my lips, just for a second. Then his lips press to mine. Chilled but gentle. Almost...waiting.

My heart pounds loudly and I rest my hands on his shoulders again to keep my balance as the world seems to tilt at a whole new angle. He tilts his head just enough so that we can both breathe through our noses and keep kissing. The soft rub of lips yanks open the door of something trapped deep inside me. Reckless and wholesome and beautiful and terrifying.

I step back and breathe the frozen night air, deep into my lungs as I slowly open my eyes.

“I’m going to,” I motion towards the house and turn easily out of his embrace. “Go to bed. Before I…”

“Savannah,” he whispers as I unlock the door and his hands rest on my hips, lightly. Sensual, not controlling. Somehow I know that if I stepped out of his hold, he’d let me go. I wait for him to say more and shiver when the words curl warmly down my neck. “Sweet dreams.”

I don’t answer but lock myself inside, leaning back against the front door and waiting for the sounds of his footsteps leaving the porch or the car driving away.

They never come.

“Graham?” I say and something thuds against the front door. “Are you still there?”

“Yes.”

“Why? You should get back. It’s late. And you’re supposed to get your eight hours of sleep and all that.”

“I know, it’s just… I really want to kiss you again.”

I shouldn’t. I should tell him to go. I should just leave the door myself and go to bed like I planned.

But instead I open the door again. I reach for him as he leans towards me. I push my hands under his hat, into his hair as our mouths find one another, slanted and overlapping and desperate. He groans and then I’m lifted off the ground. Engulfed in warmth and a steady strength, even as his lips turn me molten with need and my toes dangle in the air.

I’m not sure how long we stand there, kissing in the open doorway. Long enough to make the heater kick on inside my house and for my ears to turn numb with cold. I can’t even speak when he sets me on my feet and I stumble back inside.

“Does it count as a third date now?” he says, and I am so glad he sounds as winded as I feel. All I can do is nod and hold onto the door as he tells me he’ll call me tomorrow. Once I have the door closed between us again, I press the heel of my palm over my lips as I try to preserve in my memory every tiny feeling of kissing him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Nordic Combined. You start with a ski jump. Your jump score consists primarily of distance but there is a slight style factor to it. It’s also your advantage or handicap in the cross country ski race. If you’re reading OC, this works in a similar manner to the biathlon pursuit. Best jump score starts first, second best starts second, etc. For all but one of the Nordic Combined events, this is the race starting format, and first to cross the finish line wins. Jumps can be done from a variety of hill lengths. Example: if you see K90 in the event listing, it’s a 70m or short hill. K120 is an 80m or large hill. Depending on how many competitors are registered for the event, the ski jumps may be the day prior to the cross country portion or the same day.
> 
> The most common event is referred to as a Gunderson Individual. Ski jump + 15kM cross country ski race. Other events include a sprint (usually between 7.5 to 10kM), and a team event in which the four team members each ski a 5kM leg of a relay. In the team event, the starting order is based on their combined jump score.
> 
> There is also another event that I had a hard time finding actual records of it being used other than during the 2013-2014 World Cup season, but it’s apparently listed as one of the official events...the Nordic Combined Triple. Three days for this bad boy. Day one: 1 jump + 10kM ski. Day 2: 1 jump + 15kM ski (field limited to top 50 from Day 1). Day 3: 2 jumps + 20kM ski (field limited to top 30 from Day 2). I need a nap just typing that shit.
> 
> Now for the oddball of the family, the Mass Start. This one starts with the cross country ski portion (everyone starts at the same time) and ends with the jump. Your time for the cross country is somehow converted to points that impact your jump score, don’t ask me how, I am not a Nordic Combined judge and started seeing double when I looked it up, mmmkay? Also, they haven’t done a mass start as part of the World Cup competitions in several years.
> 
> In terms of equipment, you’d actually have two different sets of skis and boots for this event because what you need for jumps and what you need for cross country are different. These Mellark boys, I swear. So many skis...
> 
> Okay so another detail I learned while researching, and had to include here because it threw me for a loop was this...cross country skiers usually bulk up a little more because they need strength and endurance. However, for every kilogram (2.2 lbs) of muscle you pack on, you potentially decrease your jump score by 5m. Pure ski jumpers tend to be more lean and skinny while Nordic Combined athletes have to find some kind of balance between their two events. So basically to be more competitive, stocky Graham here would rely more on his skiing than his jumping.
> 
> More fun research! They actually have summer events. (August - October) You think I’m joking, go Google it. Nordic Combined Grand Prix. They jump onto wet astroturf and “ski” on pavement using these weird looking rollerblade things called roller skis. Look, I try to be creative as a writer but this one’s not of my imagination.
> 
> Last fun bit of research...haha. Ski jumping and Nordic Combined are two of the longest hold outs in terms of events resisting the addition of women’s leagues. For a long time, they were hiding behind a loop hole in the court cases requiring all new Olympic events to have both men’s and women’s divisions. Basically since ski jumps and Nordic Combined were both at the original 1924 Winter Olympics, they didn’t have to get on board the equality train right away. Then they claimed it’d be too difficult on a woman’s body (um what?!?!). Then the excuse was that there weren’t enough women to compete, which is still somewhat true today, but hopefully not much longer. 
> 
> Women’s ski jumps were included in the two most recent Winter Olympics -- Sochi 2014 and Pyeongchang 2018. Nordic Combined is still dragging its feet a bit. Originally, Women’s Nordic Combined was supposed to debut in Beijing in 2022, however, the IOC has recently asked for more time to allow for the field of competition to grow. On the one hand, Boo. On the other hand, the US just held its first Women’s Nordic Combined Nationals this past season (2017-2018) and only had two competitors show up. FIS (the International Ski Federation which is the governing body that handles worldwide Nordic Combined Competitions) still only lists a schedule for males for the upcoming 2018-2019 season. They did hold a summer grand prix in August for the ladies, but again a small field of only 11 athletes. A quick look at where they’re all from and it’s pretty clear, there are some countries that are ahead on the equality front and some that are behind the US. However, IOC has stated that Women’s Nordic Combined WILL debut at the 2026 Winter Olympics, wherever that winds up being held. Let’s just hope enough ladies show up to represent.


	5. The Big Meeting

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I lied about the not updating soon. The ideas keep rolling for these two so we're going to enjoy it while it lasts. Sorry not sorry!!!!! ;-)

“What the hell do you wear to meet an Olympic gold medalist and the grandfather of your sort of kind of boyfriend slash pen pal what the hell was I thinking?!”

I throw another dress across the bed and screech in my throat.

“Have you taken a breath in the past ten minutes?” Brianna asks.

“No! Breathing is not important right now!”

“Are those your choices?” Brianna asks and motions towards the dresses on my bed. I’m pretty sure one was purchased for a funeral. The other one for my high school graduation. They’re the only two dresses that I own. Other than an old Prom dress that I’ve already given to Brianna for her Prom in two months. I have a few skirts but they’re all much more casual. So these are my options… someone just died or blushing springtime virgin.

“They are! Ugh!” I throw my hands up the air, turn and fall back on the bed.

“Can I ask something?” Brianna flops next to me, crushing the violet and blue disaster beneath her body.

“Sure. Why not.”

“You’re usually not this uptight about what you wear.”

“That’s not a question.”

“Just wondering why this is such a big deal.”

Behind my eyelids, I picture him talking about his grandfather, his home in Wyoming. The look in his eyes after he kissed me. When I opened the door because both of us wanted more kisses. The steady look of determination on his face, although his eyes were hidden behind protective glasses, as he skis. The brief flashes of offense at tiny details, exasperation with his brothers. Nervousness every time he’s tried to take a step forward with me.

“Because...because it’s important to him.”

“But doesn’t he like you? For who you are?”

I turn my head to look at her and she slides off the bed to start digging in our closet.

“Ooh, these pants,” she gushes as she tosses a slinky pair of gray pants that fit more like leggings at me.

“I bought those for Annabelle’s bachelorette party!”

“And they are trés sexy,” Brianna says with a wiggle of her eyebrows before diving back into our closet. “Hahaha! Jackpot!”

She spins around with the top I bought to go with those pants. It’s plaid and satin. Basically a bustier with wide straps. 

“I can’t wear that!” I hiss and stand up to snatch the thing out her hands. “It’s too cold out.”

And while it makes my breasts look amazing, I’m not sure that’s the right tone I should be aiming for when I meet Graham’s grandfather.

“Hmmm,” she hums and plucks at the fabric, then snatches it back. “I think I have just the thing. She tosses it next to the pants on my bed then returns to the closet search, on her side this time.

“It’s perfect!” she squeals and tosses a mass of fabric at me. A deep teal, cashmere sweater with a loose cowl neck and silver woven into the threads.

“This is yours.”

“But you need it! It’s the perfect color. Go shower and we’ll get you dressed!”

Thirty minutes later, I’m spinning for my sister. Wearing my pants that fit like skin and her sweater over my top. The loose cowl of the sweater drapes off one shoulder, revealing just a peek of the plaid and my skin. I added some chunky silver bracelets and one with beads that complement the shades in the plaid top. Brianna found a blue velvet ribbon that she’s turned into a choker. We’ve done a number on my eyelashes and liner and I’ve added a light sheen of gloss to my lips. My hair is straightened and pulled back in a ponytail that swishes over the areas left bare by the sweater. I can’t deny that I feel like some kind of winter goddess and yet somehow still like myself.

“This sweater is now mine,” I tell Brianna.

“Oh Savannah, if he kisses you tonight, it’s all yours. No arguments from me. Then it’s your lucky sweater!” she breathes out and pushes a pair of my boots at me. A sleek pair, not the clunky ones I usually wear when I ride my bike. I blush as I tug on the boots, fearing that my ponytail swinging next to my cheek does nothing to hide it. I haven’t told anyone about kissing him the other night.

“Okay,” I say as I stand up. My leather jacket isn’t much for a layer of warmth, but it goes better with this outfit than my heavy winter coat, so I grab that. “I’ll be home later. There’s money for pizza in the kitchen—“

“Yes!”

“And Mom is working swing shift until around eleven. I can’t believe I’m doing this.”

“I think it’s romantic. He’s introducing you to his family.”

“Just his grandfather,” I remind her.

“But you said his grandfather is basically his hero.”

I squint at her and point a freshly polished nail in her face. “Not helping with the nerves.”

“Come on, Savannah. He’s going to love you.” I sigh and Brianna squeals as the sound of a car door shutting reaches us. “He’s here! Have fun! Don’t mind my spying!”

She scrambles to the window and peeks through the blinds. I take a few deep breaths and head to the door, opening it before he can even ring the doorbell.

For about two seconds, Graham looks more like a deer caught in headlights than the confident athlete that I’ve watched for the past week, churning along steadily for grueling distances. Maybe I’ve dressed all wrong. It’s probably the leather jacket. Maybe I should have gone for warmth instead.

“I...wow,” he breathes and just that small sound boosts my own confidence sky high. He regains his composure then and offers me his arm with a charming smile. Leather jackets and romantic courtship. The contrasts are not something I’d ever really considered as something that would work before.

Only problem is, this jacket really isn’t made for this weather. I’m shuddering with the cold by the time I’m tucked away in the car and shove my hands under my thighs to warm them faster. Graham cranks the heater and I catch a glimpse of Brianna in the window, gesturing excitedly as we pull away.

I fidget as we drive towards the edge of the city. We have a decent amount of time to talk until we reach Sundance, one of the ski resorts up in the mountains, where we’re supposed to be meeting his grandfather for dinner. But I’m struggling to find something to talk about.

“You look...beautiful, by the way,” Graham manages to say as we wait at a stoplight. I venture a look at him. He looks so serious and intent that I can’t help teasing him a little. I aim for a sly smile.

“You wore a tie just so you could claim this as a fourth date, didn’t you?” I say, which seems to make him relax a little.

“Maybe.”

The person behind us honks. I have to stifle a laugh as Graham refocuses his attention on driving.

“Did you want to give me some pointers on how to behave around your grandfather? I don’t want to embarrass you.”

“Gramps is...you know what, no. I don’t have any pointers for you.”

“Why not?” I ask, suddenly worried.

“Because I don’t think it’s possible for you to embarrass anyone if you just act like yourself.”

Oh lord. My fingers clench on the seat and I try to listen as he talks. The closer we get, the more relaxed he seems, talking first about some of the behind the scenes at the Olympics stories and then about the sprint the past two days. His third and final event at these Games. It didn’t go too well for him, and he’s clearly in self-critique mode. Already trying to improve for the next event. Ever the perfectionist.

Meanwhile, I’m about ready to run away in a panic when Graham finally pulls into the parking lot and then I’ve about convinced myself this is a really bad idea. Between his exasperated father that he apparently has to escape from just to go to an art museum, to his mother with the harsh voice, and Graham’s strict adherence to training schedules and his carefully measured out goals and life, I’ve got this image all worked up in my head of his grandfather being a strict patrician man, with narrow eyes that see everything, a thin and frowning mouth informing me that we are exactly two minutes and twenty-six seconds late and my sweater falling off my shoulder is highly inappropriate for a family meal.

I’m so caught up in my worries that the next thing I know, I’m approaching a table and faced with someone closer to Santa than cartoon villain. He stands to greet us, and with his build and mannerisms, I’m immediately reminded of my first date with Graham.

Oh.

_ Oh.  _

“Savannah, this is my grandfather, Eirik Tjaland. We all call him Gramps, though.”

Relief doesn’t even begin to describe how I feel as Graham slides my leather jacket off my shoulders and Eirik takes both my hands in a soft shake as soon as they’re free.

He’s so handsome. With a neat beard and bushy eyebrows over sparkling blue eyes that make me think of cool summer swims and late winter skating on frozen ponds. Gray hair, laugh lines around his eyes, and a smile that speaks of a lifetime of experience and travels, adventure and so much more.

“It is wonderful to meet you, Savannah,” he says and his accent is thick as butter but warm as fresh from the oven bread. Norway. I remember Graham mentioning that his grandfather emigrated here from Norway in the late sixties.

“You too, Mr. Tjaland.” I manage to say, feeling ridiculous that I’d been so worried, even if just for a short amount of time. “I may have to ask you how to spell that later.”

Eirik laughs and motions towards the table. Graham holds my chair for me, and as I slide into it, Eirik wastes no time diving into conversation.

“Graham tells me that you are an artist and a student at the university here.”

Within minutes of talking to Eirik, I have to scramble my entire idea of Graham’s childhood. He’s curious but not prying. He doesn’t discount my desires to study both art and maybe something in the communications field, instead praising me for cultivating multiple interests and avenues. 

“We have encouraged Graham to pursue higher education as well. It is becoming easier to balance with his training now with the online courses.”

“I’ll get to it,” Graham says, with a slight defensive tone in his voice. “Have to decide what I’d want to study first.”

Eirik agrees that it would be wise to have a path, or at least an idea to start with. It’s so different from the “Just Pick Something” mentality of my advisors and even my mother at times, that I find myself sharing more with Eirik about school.

He asks about my family, and although I love my siblings, I’m careful not to mention the drama I’ve been dealing with. There’s no need for me to overshare on a first dinner.

“Three siblings? So you come from a large family.”

“It’s insane sometimes, but I love them,” I tell Eirik and he smiles.

“Graham also comes from a...busy family.”

“I see we’re being polite tonight,” Graham says and when I look over, his cheeks are turning pink.

“Your brothers are still smarting over the pie incident,” Eirik responds and then tilts his head towards me, for some reason. “Desserts have been on practical lock down long enough, don’t you think? Perhaps you should grant them some leniency now.”

“Pie incident?” I ask and Graham’s flush deepens as Eirik laughingly regales me with the story of a stolen pie and a date gone wrong. With Penelope. Graham’s discomfort at the story calls out to me, though and I find myself placing a hand discreetly on his knee beneath the table.

“Are we done embarrassing me?” he asks his grandfather and I give him what I hope is a reassuring squeeze.

“That’s what family is for,” I say and decide to share maybe a little bit of my embarrassing stories too. “Besides, younger ones are curious about their futures and learn about all kinds of things from watching the oldest grow up first. I’ll never forget the first time a boy brought me home from a date. My brothers were twelve -- so same age as Ryen?”

“At the time of the pie incident, yes,” Eirik confirms.

“Anyways, they set themselves up in the tree outside our house, hidden inside the leaves. And watched the whole thing. Then, just as my date was leaning in to kiss my cheek, there’s this loud  _ Snap! _ And all I hear is Garrett going ‘Uh-oh,’ right before the branch broke and dropped a tree limb and Harper onto the back of my date’s car.”

Eirik and Graham both chuckle as my cheeks warm, but Graham is smiling and I can feel him relax a little beneath my touch.

“The best part is,” I continue when they both stop laughing, “they had apparently armed themselves with their Super Soakers and planned on spraying my date if he’d tried to kiss me. Harper broke the branch trying to get a better shot and when I scolded them for it, Harper told me that I couldn’t get mad since they were ‘defending my honor.’”

Uproarious laughter at my story leads to more tales. I learn that Peeta, Graham’s youngest brother, had some speech difficulty at a young age and called Graham “Gramma” for years.

“Ryen still won’t let me forget that,” Graham says with a shake of his head. “I’m going to be stuck with that nickname forever.”

“So if you’re ‘Gramma’ and Peeta’s ‘Runt,’ then what do you call Ryen?”

“Major pain?” Graham suggests and Eirik chuckles.

“You and Peeta give him enough grief over his initials, I think.”

At some point during the meal, Graham removed his jacket and rolled up his sleeves. I find myself in the odd predicament of ogling his forearms. They’re so shapely and developed and really I shouldn’t be this turned on by his forearms, of all things. It’s not like I haven’t seen them before, but that was months ago. He’s kept his body basically covered most of the time we’ve been together. Even his ski suit covers him neck to toes. Although it’s fitted and hints at what’s beneath, really I was never close to him in it to get a really good look. So this glimpse of bare skin and muscle beneath is basically porn with Graham.

I manage to behave myself and pay attention to the conversation, though. Eirik’s quick to share stories about his grandsons and Katniss. Most of the stories involve Ryen running amok and dragging Peeta and Katniss along for the ride while Graham swaps between trying to keep them out of trouble or somehow getting them in more trouble, depending on the adventure. The few stories that are just about Graham feel almost sad.

Maybe that’s not the right word, but there’s a definite difference in the tone of the stories. 

Eirik’s also quick to share tales of his own time competing in the Olympics. When Graham starts to sound critical of himself and his performance in the sprint, Eirik draws him back with encouragement and advice. Beside me, Graham is relaxed and talks easily. There’s clear respect for his grandfather, but also warmth and affection. 

There’s also no shortage of conversation. It meanders from athletics and family stories through Norse mythology and art. A hundred topics over warm breads and savory meats. Hearty food that relaxes and comforts.

By the end of the meal, when Eirik once more takes both my hands in his and murmurs that I am always welcome to visit in Wyoming, I’m so warm and relaxed that a desire to see where Graham grew up easily slips through my lips.

As we walk back out to the car, the cold reaches me quickly. I’m once more shoving hands under my legs. Teeth chattering as I wait for Graham to get the heater going.

“So how’d I do?” I asks around violent shivers.

“Fine,” he says and fiddles with the dials on the car.

“Did I pass the test of approval?”

“What do you mean?” He pauses in getting the heat going to look up at me in the dark, his face barely illuminated by the dashboard lights.

“I mean that I get the feeling your grandfather’s opinion is very important to you. So did I pass and is there a fifth date in our future?”

“His opinion is important to me. But I would have wanted to see you again regardless.”

“Would you?” I ask and Graham shifts in his seat. I shudder again, my teeth clanking together. “Could we maybe turn up the heat?”

Graham turns knobs again and there’s a blast of cold air at first. Gradually, I warm up, rubbing my hands together in front of the vents to soak up more heat. 

I’ve hit some kind of nerve. Offended Graham somehow and I’m not sure how to fix it. So I decide to be patient and see if he’ll open to me. He drives us back down through the mountains and once I’m warm enough, I glance up at the stars above us. They’re beautiful. Stark and clear tonight. Burning so far away, but here they seem cold.

The car slows and I glance over at Graham in surprise as I realize that we’re stopping. Pulling onto one of the cutouts for motorists in trouble.

“Why are we stopping?” I ask.

“Because I want to talk with you about a few things, and I’m not sure that freezing on your front porch or even sitting in the car on the curb in front of your house is the best place,” he says as he turns in his seat to face me. He’s left the car running and even still in drive, his foot planted on the brake pedal.

“Okay,” I say softly and he shoves a hand through his hair, messing it up a little bit.

“I did this all wrong, didn’t I? Went charging ahead with introducing you to Gramps and now you’ve got the wrong idea and--”

“Graham,” I say softly and he stops talking and finally looks at me. I take a deep breath and uncurl myself from the seat. “I was teasing. I didn’t mean to upset you.”

He taps his fingers on the steering wheel and nods. “It’s okay.”

“Can I ask you something? About your family?” I speak cautiously and he tells me to go ahead, but I can see his shoulders stiffen a little.

“After the way you talked about your parents the other night in the café, I honestly had this picture in my head of a kind of snowy boot camp with three little boys doing push ups and skiing laps and--” I stop talking as Graham laughs. It’s not mean, though and I wait until he stops. “But now that I’ve seen you with your grandfather… I’m not sure what to think.”

“I’ve um...I’ve always wanted to make him proud, you know? To live up to his expectations of me, but he wasn’t like that. At least not that I can remember. Maybe he was with my mom, I don’t know. With me and my brothers, Gramps has always encouraged us, wanted to see us improve and excel, but he’s never made us feel bad if we didn’t immediately succeed. Does that make sense?”

“Yes,” I say and hold his gaze with mine, because I know there’s more.

“My mother’s harder to explain,” he says. “She was a really good downhill skier when she was around my age and...she gave that up because of me.”

“Why?” I ask, shaking my head in confusion.

“Not really sure. I’m apparently not adult enough to learn about all the family skeletons yet,” he says and I chuckle a little. He smiles briefly before he talks again. “She was injured leading up to an Olympic appearance, wound up an alternate, and then I was born. I mean...the bootcamp image probably isn’t that far off where she’s concerned, but I think she just doesn’t want us to get distracted or miss out on our goals like she did.”

“Oh,” is all I can manage to say. It kind of makes sense. Except the bootcamp part. “So how come I didn’t meet her tonight?”

“She’s not...she doesn’t want--” he huffs and shifts the car into park. “Mom is difficult to explain.”

I think I’m getting a pretty good idea of the family dynamic, though. “She doesn’t like you seeing me, does she?”

“That’s not,” Graham stops himself and sighs. “It’s not personal towards you, Savannah. It’s...every date I’ve ever gone on. Every girl I so much as smile at, she needs to know why and then reminds me that I need to be focused and not…”

He trails off and I wonder how he would have finished that sentence if he hadn’t decided not to. Dating? Kissing? Having sex? Falling in love? Living life beyond skiing?

“That’s still kind of harsh,” I say, feeling the bite of my own mother’s words. It’s different for me, but not really.

“Maybe. She just wants us to be the best we can be. I guess that’s the only real way she knows how to show that she cares about us. Pushing us to be better and not lose sight of what we want.”

I sit up and lean across the console towards him. “Did you know my mother was seventeen when I was born?” He looks back up at me, surprise in his eyes. 

“I...no, I didn’t.” 

“She was. Mom was planning on going to college. She wanted to be a writer. Then one summer, she met this guy. He was a few years older than her and they had this whirlwind romance. He was headed to college at the end of the summer. At the end of it, she was pregnant with me. Dad came back, married my Mom. He got a job and they struggled along. Then Brianna was born. And then the twins. But by the time the twins were three years old, Dad decided he’d missed out on life. So he left.”

“Why would he…? He just left her with four kids?” Graham sounds almost angry. Maybe I shouldn’t have shared that much.

I hum an affirmative and settle back in my seat. “So I guess I can understand your Mom not wanting you to repeat her life in a sense. My mom is the same way with me. How old was your mother when you were born?”

“Twenty-two.”

Oh. Well that doesn’t make as much sense as I was expecting. “How long does a downhill skier’s career usually last?”

“There are some who are competitive into their late thirties, early forties.”

Plenty of time. His mother could have come back from having a kid. I hate to dislike her before I even meet her, but now my cartoon villain image is starting to form around her instead. 

“Why’d she give it up then? As long as she had people there to support her and help her, she could’ve had you and her athletic career. My mother...my mother didn’t have that. Once my Dad was gone, she’d already isolated herself from her own family so much. I don’t even know my grandmother. My sister and brothers are all the real family that I have and...anyways.” I tilt my head back and stare up at him. I’m not certain what my goal was, spewing all of this to him tonight. “This just got awkward, didn’t it? Maybe you should drive me home.”

“I like learning more about you,” he whispers.

“It’s not all pretty or neatly ordered.”

“I’m okay with that.”

“Are you now?” I sit up again, the seat belt chafing on my skin and my spine rigid.

“That didn’t come out the way I meant it,” he says and I wait for him to explain. “I just meant that I can deal with it.”

“Not doing much better here, Graham.”

He sighs and puts the car in gear. “I’ll just...take you home.”

We’re silent for a good portion of the drive. It’s when we’re in the city that Graham speaks again.

“I keep my shirts in my closet in color order. Red. Orange. Yellow. Green, and so on. Ryen spent one summer moving one shirt out of order every day, just to see if I’d notice.”

“Did you?” I ask, not sure what the point of this story is.

“Yes. At first I didn’t know it was him. I’d put the shirt back where it belonged and then the next day, another one would be out of order. Drove me nuts for about two weeks until I caught him in the act. I don’t know how to explain it. But after I yelled at him about it and he stopped...the next day I was almost upset when the shirts were all exactly where I expected them to be.”

I think for a moment and take a deep breath before I speak. “Are you saying you want someone to mess up your carefully ordered shirts?”

“I don’t...know. Maybe I’m saying that I got used to him messing with me. It became part of my routine. If Ryen didn’t find a way to make me the brunt of a joke then...” We’ve reached my house and he parks on the street. His hands knead the steering wheel instead of cutting off the engine. “It’s...Ryen and I, we’re not really...close. He’s a lot closer to Peeta, and some of that is our ages. I was seven when Ryen was born. With how busy Mom and Dad always are with the Skadi, a lot of times I had to act more like a parent than a brother, and sometimes I think that he does all that stuff just to get me mad because he’s a jerk. Other times I think it’s the only way he knows how to show me that he cares. Trying to get me out of the set patterns of my life. With Mom...I don’t know. I’m not making much sense am I?”

“You’re making sense. So then what are we doing here?” I ask as I sit up and lean across the console. His eyes dip for a second before meeting mine again.”

“Uh...I’m not sure what you mean.”

“I mean, wouldn’t dating a girl who lives in a city you only visit a few times a year, kissing her...wouldn’t that detract from reaching your goals? Just like your mother doesn’t want? Mess with your ability to arrange things to your liking? Or would you see it as refreshing? Getting out of the set patterns of your life? A brief departure from your routine?”

“Not all my goals have to do with skiing,” he says.

“Clearly some of them are sartorial and organizational as well.” He smiles then, and I’m actually really glad to see the expression. “The question remains...What else is there to life?” I ask in mock incredulity and his smile widens.

“All kinds of things, I’m discovering. I’d like to keep writing you, Savannah. If you’ll let me. I still have a few more weeks in the season. Finland and Norway again. Also Sweden.”

My heart trips for a second before I wrangle it and my mouth into submission.

“I still won’t date you long distance.”

“Still too much work?” I nod and he laughs lightly. “All you have to do is open an envelope once a week and read a little bit. Just a tiny bit,” he whispers, the words brushing over my lips and making me realize how close we’ve moved together.

I tip forward just a tiny bit and just like that, we’re kissing again. Sensations unfurl inside me as he takes a deep breath through his nose and holds my head cupped in his palm. I lose my balance and fall into him, palms smacking onto his thighs to catch myself, mouths sliding apart. I’ve caught myself awkwardly, though and as I try to get off him, one hand gets awful close to his crotch.

“Sorry,” I say and scramble back into my seat, embarrassed. Here I was thinking he was awkward with that first kiss the other night. I’m just a disaster. Only he follows me, right hand sliding between me and the seat to pull me closer, his hand splayed on my lower back as I squeak into his open mouth. For one second, I’m a little overwhelmed by his tongue. Not sure what to do with all of him in my mouth, I freeze in my seat. I mean, maybe that wasn’t his first kiss the other night, but now I’m starting to think he wasn’t joking when he said he doesn’t date much. I’m struggling with how to tell him when he retreats and looks me in the eye for a second.

“I don’t...I haven’t really...with anyone.”

So confident on his skis and clueless when it comes to making out with a girl. Something about it makes me smile and hold his cheeks in my palms. I bring his mouth back to mine. Keeping my lips relaxed as we resume kissing. When I part my lips, he hesitates, so I flick my tongue on his bottom lip, inviting him in. This time, he kisses me with less eagerness. More finesse.

Sloppy, eager caresses slow and mellow. I melt into him and slide my hands down his neck, grip his shirt then keep feeling beneath his coat. Exploring his back and sides and chest, I can feel his body heat through the crisp fabric of his shirt. The tensing of solid muscle beneath my touch.

“Oh,” I pant as his mouth moves to the side of my neck and he kisses me high into the sky. I move my hands again, searching for some purchase on something solid and I gasp at the heat beneath my skin. I’ve somehow pulled his shirt free of his slacks and gotten my hands under it. I spread my fingers to soak in the heat. “You’re...  _ really _ warm.”

He huffs, sounding amused as he keeps kissing down to my shoulder. My jacket fell away at some point and I shiver beneath his kisses. My fingers curl and my nails scrape over hard muscle. He groans into my shoulder and kisses one more spot that makes me tremble before lifting his head.

“Do that again?” he whispers.

“This?” I ask and dig my nails into him.

“Fuck yes, that,” he pants and I blink at the curse word. It’s so...sexy on him. I give him one more good scrape and his hand smacks into the passenger side window. His lips cover mine again. More demanding this time. Stirring to life things as forbidden as that swear word on his perfect lips. My hands roam under his shirt, charting a course over dips and ridges of muscle I’ve seen only through a ski suit or in my late night dreams.

It’s not enough. Oh god I want so much more. I want his hands on me. Not just the one still holding me. And not through layers upon layers of clothes. I’m thinking of his warm skin fully against mine. A hundred other things and possibilities.

“Savannah,” he groans and slides his hand around to my front. His fingers toy with the hem of my sweater, hesitating and I want to grab his hand and shove it underneath. 

But his uncertainty in the face of my own desperation douses me in cold reality. My lips clamp together. I sit there, rigid as he seems to war with himself.

Slowly, I slide my hands out from beneath his shirt. We remain there, frozen in motion but burning inside. I’m panting ridiculously and my fingers twitch, longing to feel the heat of him again.

“Did I push too far?” he asks sweetly and I shake my head.

“No.” I kiss him once more. “I think maybe I was about to push too far.”

His fingers squeal on the window and I look over and smile at the five curved lines he’s made in the fogged up glass. His heavy breaths curl over my ear, and he whispers to me. The warm air of his words makes me shiver.

“You sure about that not dating long distance?”

“I’ll read letters and answer the phone,” I say. I can’t look at him, afraid I’ll cave right this second and erase anything good we could have by imagining that I see more in his eyes than what’s really there. Afraid of falling too fast and not seeing the warning signs. It’s my mother talking, but she’s not entirely wrong.

“You won’t think of me when I’m gone?” he asks and drops three soft kisses on my neck. Three soft kisses that have me squirming and debating the wisdom of taking things slow. Then he lifts his head and I can’t stop myself. I meet his gaze this time.

I wish there was more light so I could see the color of his eyes right now, but I can see a confident shine in them. 

“What makes you think I’d think of you?” I ask. Only it has the opposite effect I’m hoping for. He grins at me and leans in close.

“Because you’re pulling on my tie right now.”

I drop it and use my hands to shift in my seat, grateful when he moves away and climbs from the car, giving me a chance to compose myself. He takes longer than I expect and when he opens the door for me, his tie is fixed and his shirt is tucked back in, but his hair is still ruffled and it makes me smile as he kisses my hand at the door and waits for me to go inside before he leaves. Leaves me with my heart still thudding and a full body ache.

And all I can think as I lay in bed is that there has to be  _ something _ wrong with him. No one can be that perfect.

  
  
  
  



	6. The Changing Seasons

“Found it,” I say triumphantly and land heavily into my seat as Stefan jumps and looks up from his drawing.

“Found what?”

“Graham’s Big Flaw.”

“Oooo-kay,” Stefan says.

“His mother.”

“Expand.”

“I’m not exactly sure yet, but based on what he’s said, I have a feeling she’s a doozy. Controlling, strict, not very affectionate.”

“Oh joy. So are you dumping him because of Mommy?”

“No! Of course not!”

“Good. Because just think… the next Olympics are in Italy.”

“That’s four years away.”

“You could easily keep him on the hook for four years. Especially long distance.”

“You just want me to date him for the potential trip to Italy,” I say and Stefan laughs. 

“You realize how many carbs there are in Italian food?”

“Oh please, by the time 2006 rolls around, you’ll have graduated and your mother will be trying to shove a completely different diet in your face. No really, though. My mom isn’t exactly a peach either.”

“This is true.”

“It’s actually kind of odd how similar they sound. My mom doesn’t want me dating him because she’s afraid he’ll leave me pregnant and alone. His mother doesn’t want him dating anyone because she’s afraid he’ll get some girl pregnant and ruin his career.”

“Why is that so odd? It’s a good excuse for overprotective mothers everywhere.”

“Yeah but...I get the impression he hasn’t been kissing a whole lot of girls or anything.”

“Sav, you do know it takes more than kissing to get pregnant, right?” Stefan jokes and I elbow him. “So…?”

“What?” I ask and shake my head in confusion.

“Is he gonna keep writing you letters?”

“He said he is. And...I think I’ll let him.”

Stefan scoffs and class begins. We’re mostly focused on taking notes, with the occasional comment written to each other on a scrap piece of paper between us. Figuring out weekend plans already and me whining about my boss at the department store where I work. 

Although, I have to admit that my mind is half in Wyoming. Crazy family is no reason for me to break things off with Graham, after all. Besides, now I’m really curious about his family. His home. I think I’d like to officially meet his brothers and parents.

At one point, Stefan elbows me and taps the margin of of our chatting paper. I glance down at the words scribbled there.

_ Since his Big Flaw is his mother...I assume that he’s a decent kisser? _

I grab his pencil and scratch it out, but I can’t help the blush on my face or the memories of Graham’s mouth on mine those last few kisses. Desperate and demanding but somehow not frightening. More...thrilling. Stefan covers his mouth, muffling the sounds of his laughter over my reaction.

The letters arrive mid-week, as usual. The phone calls start my Saturday with something happy that sustains me through the day. The questions shift from the ridiculous to the more serious. Questions about futures and dreams and what I love most about art or each of the important people in my family. They’re not always happy questions, though.

_ What is your worst memory? _

I finger the corner of my first letter from him with a post mark from Wyoming and try not to read too much into the fact that this somber question came from him on his first week back home after the season end.

“The day after my dad left.” I tell him when he calls later that day. “But that’s...kind of a long story.”

“I’ve got time,” he says. “If you want to talk about it.”

For some reason I do. It’s our longest phone conversation yet, telling him about the silence in the house and my mother’s downward spiral from someone I knew without a doubt loved me to someone who struggled just to take care of us all. Not that all of it was her fault. I wasn’t lying when I said she’d cut herself off from her family, but now I sometimes wonder how much of that was Dad’s influence. It took close to five years after he left before she spoke to her brother again. 

“That’s actually how Penelope and I got so close. We were at the same summer camp one year. Figured out that the vaguely familiar face was our cousin we used to know and things just went from there. Uncle Justin and Mom still aren’t close, but at least they talk now. And Penelope’s one of my best friends.”

Before I get a chance to ask him if it’s odd that she’s how _ we _ met or about  _ his  _ worst memory, his brothers interrupt and Graham hastily promises to call me again as soon as he can. I’m left laughing as I hear Graham adopt an extremely serious tone to speak to his brothers right before the call disconnects.

The conversation sticks with me, though, and I take myself for a drive. Round the city and up into the hills, fresh with the scent of spring. 

Eventually, I have to stop for gas and check my phone. I’ve got a message from home and frown as I listen. The boys took the car and left Brianna stranded with no way to get to work. I rush home and get her there just in time for her shift. She runs off still wearing the helmet and has to turn around to return it.

Then I head home and wait for the twins.

“Where were you?” I ask the second they walk in the door.

“Nowhere--”

“Hanging out with friends--” They speak over each other.

“Was that really the best choice?” 

“What?”

“You left Brianna with no way to get to work. Her shift was on the calendar.”

“So?”

“So? That’s all you have to say?”

“You got her to work alright, didn’t you? ...Mother.” Harper sneers and I snap.

“Enough! I don’t know what’s been going on with you the past few months, but it stops now. We’re going to figure this out,” I say and point towards the kitchen table. Harper glares at me and drops into the nearest chair.

“I liked you better when you were letting that rich asshole feel you up on the front porch,” Harper mutters and my cheeks flame. “At least then you left me the fuck alone.”

“That is irrelevant and he’s not an asshole.”

“Yeah, irrelevant right up until you run off with him,” Garrett says behind me and I freeze. My eyes dart between my twin brothers as anger boils inside my chest. I point at the table again and something in my eyes must frighten Garrett because he sits next to Harper and practically cowers. I don’t want them to be afraid of me, but this is getting out of hand.

“Speeding tickets. Shoplifting. Porn at school. Vandalism. The worst attitudes! Leaving your sister stranded! I know it sucks but we have to share our vehicles--”

“All except you with your precious bike.” I glare at Harper and he glares right back.

“I bought that bike. With  _ my _ money that I earned from working my ass off and  _ my _ credit in  _ my _ name. My dating life is not an excuse for the two of you to run wild. There’s an acceptable amount of rebellion and then there’s the point where you’ve just turned into a couple of assholes!”

“I haven’t—“

“Shut it, Garrett! I’ve tried to be understanding and wait for you two to tell me what the hell is going in your heads and yes I include you in this Garrett. Just because you haven’t been caught doesn’t mean you’re not culpable. Even if you have been a model of behavior, you’ve known about  _ his _ escapades and haven’t done or said a damn thing!”

Garrett hangs his head and Harper can’t meet my eyes anymore.

“You want your own car, you’re going to have to work for it. It sucks! I know it sucks. If I could give you both your own car, I would. But I can’t. So you’ll just have to pitch and and stop getting speeding tickets if that’s what you want! 

“And I am  _ not _ going to run off with Graham, but neither am I going to shut myself away in this house and be a...a servant to your whims! I’m not your mother, as you are so fond of pointing out, Harper. But I am your sister and we’re going to work this out so that all of us have at least some small slice of happiness and we can get along as a family. And you know what! You’re both sixteen now. Jobs!”

“What?”

“Jobs! I said jobs! J-o-b-s! You’re both getting jobs. I started working at fourteen. Twelve if you count babysitting jobs for other families. I don’t care if you work four hours on the weekends only. Every time you screw up with the car, it costs us more in insurance, which means it’ll take longer for us to even think about getting you guys a car! You want me to stop telling you how to live your life? Show yourself you can lead your life without me and I’ll stop!”

I’m making no sense and I probably sound overly emotional. I lock myself in the bathroom to scrub it. Then the kitchen to scrub dishes. Then the laundry room to fold a load and shift another to the dryer. At some point, I know they’ve gone out because I can’t find them and the station wagon isn’t in the driveway.

I’ve moved on to picking up Brianna from her shift and then getting dinner ready when Harper and Garrett return home. They shut themselves in their room and barely talk to me for days unless it’s absolutely necessary. Now that Graham is back in the states, he calls every other day. I ask him questions this time. Silly ones to keep us from talking about heavier things, although I still want to know what his worst memory is. 

“Do you prefer soft shell or hard shell tacos?”

“Would you rather visit outer space or the bottom of the ocean?”

Eventually, I can’t take it anymore and when he asks me if classes are going alright, I instead tell him about my brothers. He’s silent as I blurt out the whole awful story, and when I’m done, I hold my breath.

“They sound like they need a time out,” he says. I blink and stare at the wall. Then laughter bursts out of me and I don’t know why. I must be crazed. Graham seems unperturbed, telling me that I kept my cool far longer than he would have. “I probably would have lost it with the second speeding ticket.”

On Friday, Harper knocks on my bedroom door as I stare at a blank canvas and wish I could find some kind of inspiration.

“Sav,” he says softly and I look up at him. “I’m um...working tomorrow. Got a job at the Barnes and Noble. Shift starts at nine. Can’t find Mom to ask her for a ride, so could um...you drop me off? That way the car’s still here for you and Bri.”

“Sure,” I say automatically.

“That won’t...that won’t cut into your phone call, will it?”

“No,” I say. “No it won’t.”

“Okay. Good.” He moves to leave my doorway and then taps the door frame before leaning back around to look at me. “Maybe I wouldn’t think he was an asshole if you’d actually let us meet him. I guess I just thought...maybe you were ashamed of us?”

“Never, Harper. I didn’t think he’d stay interested this long.”

“Why not?” Harper asks, his voice incredulous. I shake my head and kind of wave my hand around at the mess that is my room right now. “Well...obviously he’s gonna stick around for a bit soooo...can we meet him?” 

“He’s kind of in another state right now, but I promise, first time he’s back here in Salt Lake, I’ll introduce you.”

“Alright. Cool. And um, Penelope called earlier.”

“Thanks,” I tell him and head to the kitchen. It’s been awhile since I’ve talked to my cousin. Life just got so busy. We’ve kept in touch through my school email address, but I can’t cram much into those messages when I’ve got five minutes here and there to spare while I’m using one of the computer labs on campus.

As soon as she’s on the line, Penelope is gushing at me. She’s a bit much to deal with sometimes and I can’t help but laugh at my thoughts of how the date between her and Graham must have gone. He’s much more serious and reserved compared to Penelope’s bubbly, almost too much verve. Finally, I manage to get her calm enough to talk clearly.

“So, can you come?” Two weeks in Wyoming with her and my Uncle Justin.

“I’ll have to talk to Mom,” I say, but also I need to see how Harper and Garrett do with their new jobs.

It goes...alright. I tell Brianna and the boys about my plans as soon as Mom grudgingly gives me her blessing. It comes with dire warnings and grumblings that she can’t tell me ‘no’ because I’m an adult. She assumes that I’d go just to spite her if she did. Maybe at one point I would have, but with the way things have been going with the twins, I’m not so sure anymore. And yet, the twins actually take it better than she does.

Graham gives me a strange response when I tell him. Almost hesitant at first and then nervous. Maybe this is a bad idea. I second guess myself and fear that maybe I’m forcing myself on him in a way. Then I decide it doesn’t matter. Penelope lives in town, far enough away from Skadi that I don’t have to meet his family while I’m there. If he doesn’t want to see me, he doesn’t have to.

I work extra shifts for the next few weeks and trust Brianna with most of the money I make. Outline what it’s for to the twins so they know that I’m not trying to be stingy or play favorites. And maybe I’m hoping that if I show them more trust, they’ll return it and live up to it as well. 

There are still moments Harper is furious with me for something I can’t place, but at least he doesn’t break any more laws or get himself suspended again. The school year ends peacefully. Garret loans me a bag that I can stuff all my clothes in and still ride my bike.

On the morning that I’m set to leave, Harper shuffles his feet as I check my bike one last time. Finally, he hugs me and holds me tight.

“You’re coming back, right Sav?”

“I’m coming back,” I promise. “It’s only two weeks.”

“Okay. Have fun. Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.”

“Wow. So much freedom,” I say and he laughs, his cheeks turning pink with embarrassment.

“Okay, maybe don’t do anything Brianna wouldn’t do.”

“Better.” I nod and wave over my shoulder as I take off and head north.

The drive isn’t excessively long. Five hours with stops. I smile inside my helmet as I drive, filled with a strange sort of contentment that I attribute to the sun warming my leather and the bright green flourishes of summer the further north I drive. Out of Utah and into Wyoming. The burnt oranges and pale reds shift to deep greens and warm browns.

By the time I reach Penny’s house, my back aches, but she greets me with wide smiles and rambling sentences about how much fun we’re going to have.

And we do. Late nights in pajamas scarfing down popcorn in her family’s huge home. Uncle Justin is stiff and uncertain around me at first, but eventually he seems to relax. Maybe because I’m not like my mother. Or him. I don’t hold grudges.

Penelope introduces me to all her friends, many of whom are home from college for the summer. Others squeeze in fun after their shifts at ranches or at Skadi. We go see movies or go shopping. We exhaust the list of top ten things to do in Jackson, Wyoming that don’t involve the great outdoors. Which actually doesn’t take long since most of the items on the list do involve the great outdoors, but Penelope keeps insisting she’s just not the outdoorsy type.

I call home every day, and oddly enough, it’s Harper who keeps me most informed of what’s going on. I wonder if it’s too soon to hope this is a sign of things getting better. When Brianna assures me that he’s been a huge help and Mom is still up tight but not unbearable, I let myself hope a little more.

The first time I mention to Penelope that I’d like to go see Graham just once while I’m here, she gets lost in a fit of giggles that annoys me a little.

“I’m still getting used to the fact that I was actually right about you two,” Penelope says smugly when she gets her laughter under control. “So how’d you get him to loosen up?”

“I don’t think I did,” I tell her.

“Man I don’t know how you put up with all his little corrections and all his snobbery then.”

“What corrections?” I ask and she pauses with a handful of popcorn halfway to her mouth. She blinks at me.

“Uh...the fact that he speaks like three languages and corrected every word I mispronounced or every grammar mistake I made? Or the fact that all he can talk about is skiing and he’s  _ such _ a know it all about it.”

I shrug and shake my head. “He didn’t do that to me. I mean, he talks about skiing, but we talk about other things too.”

“Like what?” she asks. I tell her about the silly questions at the end of his letters and the art museums, some of the stories about his brothers. When I see her astonished look, I stop talking.

“Is that...that’s not what you meant is it? I mean, sometimes he’s a little socially awkward and I know he’s kind of particular about certain things, but he’s really sweet.”

“Savannah...I think you did get him to loosen up. Now we  _ have _ to go to Skadi. I need to see this in action.”

Which is how I find myself riding in Penelope’s car the next day, through miles of beautiful woodlands with the windows rolled up and the cold air from the air conditioner keeping me from panicking.

What if Penny’s right and he’s completely different here at his home? 

Before I can get myself too worked up, though, we’re standing in the middle of a huge stone and timber lobby with one massive fireplace in the center and several smaller ones scattered around. They’re all dormant right now, but the couches and armchairs set up around them are all full. People in hiking gear, wearing helmets and carrying canoe oars, dressed for horseback riding. Relaxing between activities, drinking cool beverages, or playing games of checkers and chess. 

I even see a handful of excited kids carrying paper targets peppered with holes. They’re herded through the lobby by a familiar face. The man I saw with Graham’s brothers and their friend at the Olympics. She’s actually there too, carrying a bow that’s almost as tall as she is and talking with one of the kids at the tail end of the line. It takes me a second to remember her name -- Katniss.

The difference between the quiet of the woods surrounding this place, where I felt like we were the only car on the road, the only people for miles, is jarring. Here it’s a hive of activity.

“Maybe this was a bad idea,” I say as Penelope drags me through the lobby towards the restaurant.

“Nonsense.” She stops in front of the host and smiles brightly. “Hey Michael!”

“What’s up, Penny?”

“Not much. Whatcha doing tonight?”

“Bonfire tonight on the grounds. Mr. Tjaland’s throwing a party for the summer birthdays,” he explains and my ears perk up at this. “You should come. Bring your friend, too.”

“Oh this is Savannah Everett, my cousin. She’s here visiting for a few weeks from Salt Lake City.” 

“Cool,” Michael says with a smile. “Is this your first trip to Wyoming?”

“No, just my first time at Skadi.”

“Awesome. Penny, you gotta take her on the waterfall hike while she’s here.”

Penny wrinkles her nose. “We’ve got better things to do.

“What’s the waterfall hike?” I ask.

“Outdoor stuff. Bugs. Big bugs,” Penelope says and I shake my head then turn back to Michael for an answer.

“Two miles into the mountains with some spectacular views. It’s a fairly easy hike.”

“That sounds amazing,” I say and nudge Penny. “We should do that. Bet I could get some great sketches on that.”

She doesn’t look too thrilled about it, though and changes the subject. “We were actually wondering where Graham’s working today?”

“Right here,” Michael says and hikes his thumb over his shoulder. “You want me to get him?”

“No,” Penelope says before I can answer. “Can you seat us in his section instead?”

“No problem,” Michael says and grabs a couple menus. “Right this way, ladies.”

Penelope giggles as he leads us to a table near the windows overlooking the mountains. It’s a spectacular view, but I’m having a hard time enjoying it. I told Graham that Penelope wanted to bring me here today, which is how we knew he was working. Penelope didn’t want to hear my excuses when I suggested we pick another day to visit, though, and now I feel like I’m ambushing him.

“Good afternoon. My name is Graham and I’ll be --”

“Hi Graham!” Penelope says and I turn around a little too fast, my hands knocking into silverware. I watch as Graham’s cheeks turn pink and he seems to stumble over his words for a second while I try to get the flatware back in order.

“Uh hello, Penelope. Savannah. Are you ladies enjoying your day?” There’s something different in his voice. Like someone’s dialed back the clock and I’m standing in a French restaurant being judged for my leather and boots instead of being seen for who I am.

Not only that, but he just  _ looks _ different. Which actually makes no sense at all. He’s dressed in all black, which okay that’s the uniform for the restaurant, but it’s black slacks, and a black dress shirt and tie. He’s got his sleeves rolled up and a short server’s apron on, but otherwise it’s not that much different from how he usually dresses. So why does he look so strange? Maybe it’s the visible forearms?

Nope still sexy as all get out, I confirm with a quick look.

“We are! How’s your day?” Penny asks, all bubbles and cheer, oblivious to the struggle I see playing out in Graham’s eyes.

Oh boy. This  _ was _ a huge mistake.

“Fine. Busy. What can I get you to drink?”

Penelope orders a lemonade and I choke out that I’ll have one too and then he’s walking away with stiff shoulders.

“I told you this was a bad idea!” I hiss under my breath at her and her eyes go wide.

“What?”

“He was so uncomfortable! We basically ambushed him where he works!”

“That’s just Graham. He’s always a stiff like that,” she waves it off and my spine snaps straight.

“No, actually, he isn’t.” I’m not sure what to think. Penelope’s always been so sweet to me and everyone else I’ve seen her interact with. How could she not see how our presence affected Graham? I’m trying to puzzle through it when he comes back with our drinks. I’d like to kick Penelope in the shins because she watches him like a hawk. I don’t know what she’s looking for, but I’m wishing he could hear my thoughts right now. He won’t even look at me. His shoulders tense and his voice stiff, distant. Snobby. Exactly the way Penelope described him.

Graham restricts conversation to our food and how everything tastes. He doesn’t linger to chat and acts like he barely knows me, but I honestly can’t blame him. I shouldn’t have let Penelope talk me into this.

“Are you sure you want to keep seeing him? He doesn’t seem too happy to see you,” Penelope questions me. “Like an iceberg, that one.”

As the meal progresses, I get closer and closer to crying and I really don’t want to burst into tears here. In front of Graham and Penelope, and everyone else having lunch in the restaurant. I’m relieved when he brings the bill, barely noticing the note tucked underneath it as I slip a twenty into the folio to pay for my portion. Thankfully, I do notice it and manage to sneak it out before Penelope reaches for the bill to pay her half.

“I guess your magic only works in Utah,” Penelope says and sighs as she pays then stands. “A shame.”

Her words stick with me as we drive back to town and to her house, the note from Graham burning a hole in my pocket. As soon as I have five minutes alone, I snatch it out and read it.

_ I’m sorry if I seemed cold today. I don’t always respond well to surprises. Michael mentioned that he invited you and Penelope to the bonfire tonight. I’d like to see you, if you can make it. I promise I won’t be like an iceberg. _

The note doesn’t hold his usual warmth at all. Or maybe I’m just imagining things. But his parting words make me oscillate between wanting to skewer my cousin and wondering if the Graham I’ve come to know is truly different from the person everyone around here knows. And if that’s the case...why?

Penelope puts up a small fuss over it, but after I find some scent free bug spray and cover her in it, she agrees to go to the bonfire for an hour.

“But that’s it,” she says and grumbles about bugs and creepy crawlies.

There’s something magical about the drive this time. With the sun setting and turning the sky to fire over the mountains. We find a place to park in the large garage and follow the signs and groups of people headed into the woods from both the lodge and the cabins. Penelope knows at least a dozen people and I lose track of names and direction as we walk until the trees open up to reveal a huge amphitheater with a fire crackling in the center.

Tables covered in a spread of food are set up on the first tier, closest to the fire. Small sausages for roasting. Cheeses and bowls heaped with breads. Baskets of vegetables and rolls of foil to roast those in the coals. Covered trays with supplies for s’mores. Jugs of cool apple cider and warm hot chocolate. Kids romp and climb up and down the layered tiers. Adults mingle and laugh. I spot several teenagers gathered near the fire, others lurking in the shadows of trees, leaning in close to one another.

The whole thing has a holiday atmosphere. A strange family party where not everyone is actually related and romance seems to sprout from the embers of the bonfire. I munch on the snacks and sip some of the cider, sing “Happy Birthday” along with everyone else to a gathered group of kids all wearing party hats, and then chat with Penelope’s friends for maybe a half hour before I finally spot Graham.

Wearing jeans and a polo shirt.

I almost laugh out loud. But the light from the fire turns his hair golden and I watch for a minute as he speaks to his father with his hands shoved in his pockets and his shoulders board stiff. I can’t help wondering if the stiffness is due to whatever his father is saying to him, his extremely casual dress, or just the setting in general. Or maybe it’s leftover from lunch.

As I watch him, a beautiful woman with pixie features and short blonde hair walks up to him. And fixes the collar that had nothing wrong with it. Then she messes with his already perfectly styled hair, too. She speaks a few sentences and then she moves on. I elbow Michael and point her out in the crowd.

“Who’s that?”

“Oh. Steer clear of her tonight unless you want a buzz kill. That’s Mrs. Mellark. She runs the slopes in winter and makes everyone miserable in summer. She’s Mr. Tjaland’s -- that’s the owner -- she’s his daughter but man the apple fell far, if you know what I mean. He’s pretty forgiving if you slack off or mess up, but she’s a freaking witch most of the time.”

Michael’s words stick with me as I grab two cups of cold cider and decide that I’ve lurked enough. I slip away from the group and head over to Graham, wait until his father has left him standing alone in the shadows before I approach.

“Something to drink?” I ask quietly and he smiles stiffly as he accepts it. “So. This is where you grew up.”

“Yeah. It’s…”

“Beautiful,” I say as I watch the families mingling and interacting. Tilt my head back to look up at the stars emerging in the indigo sky. 

“It’s not without flaws.”

“Everything in this world has a flaw,” I say and turn my head to look at him again. His expression softens. Like water poured over papier-mâché. Melting into one I’m more familiar with. 

I smile and step a little closer. “I’m sorry about surprising you today. I didn’t want to make you uncomfortable. Penelope’s sweet but she’s also a gossip hound and can be a bulldozer when she sets her mind on something.”

“It’s okay. I’m actually really glad you’re here tonight.”

“Me too.” 

“And um, my family…”

“I’ll disappear into the crowd with Penelope if you don’t want them to see me.”

“No it’s not that. It’s that my brothers, well they get a kick out of embarrassing me.” I laugh at this and Graham relaxes. “But you already understand that, don’t you?”

“Will they be climbing trees with Super Soakers to defend your honor?”

“No they’d do that to just to interrupt for the laughs and to piss me off,” he says.

“Makes me glad that your brothers were in another state last time,” I whisper and his lips turn up in a smile. I realize then that I’m smiling too. Smiling stupidly up at him like I’m besotted. But then again, maybe I am. I hide behind my cider and Graham clears his throat.

“Did you want a s’more?”

I nod and a few minutes later, we’re roasting marshmallows over the fire and Graham is asking about how my family is dealing with the separation. We remain slightly isolated from the crowd, but Graham seems far more relaxed right where we are. We assemble our s’mores and find a quiet place to sit and eat them, speaking between gooey bites. Getting caught up with each other. I ask him how he fights back against his brothers’ teasing and he shrugs.

“I’ve never really. I mean, I’m seven years older. Supposed to be setting the example and all that. Acting like the bigger man.”

“You should still be able to give them a taste of their own medicine on occasion,” I suggest.

“Maybe. I don’t know if I can come up with anything like they can.”

At one point, I see Penelope scanning over the crowd, searching for me. I wave and then turn to answer Graham’s question, asking me what I think about him studying finance or accounting.

“I’m good with numbers.”

“And very methodical. Precise. You’d probably be really good at something like that,” I say and stifle a laugh as a chunk of marshmallow oozes over his hand when he takes a bite.

“But apparently I still eat like a toddler,” he says, sounding disgruntled.

“There is literally no clean way to eat a s’more,” I say and take a big bite to prove my point. He laughs as the stuff seeps out the sides of my graham crackers. His cheeks rosy in the firelight.

“I’ll get us some napkins or something,” he offers when we finish eating our treats. I stand with him, a little leery of being left alone in a crowd of virtual strangers. We’ve just got our hands cleaned when one of his brothers saunters up. The middle one, Ryen.

“Why’re you hiding out, Graham?” he asks in a saucy tone.

“I’m not hiding. I’ve been by the fire this whole time.”

“Then maybe you’re trying to hide this lovely lady from my irresistible charms,” Ryen says.

“She’s too smart to fall for that. This is Savannah. Savannah, this is my thirteen year old brother, Ryen.”

“Why you gotta say it like that?” Ryen asks and takes my hand in his. “She seems like a woman who knows a mature man when she sees one.” I quirk an eyebrow at Graham over the top of Ryen’s bent head as he kisses the back of my hand and whispers to me. “Enchanté.”

Oh this boy is trouble in spades. 

I turn wide, falsely innocent eyes on Ryen as he stands up and ask, “Do you speak French?”

“The language of love, chérie. Le cochon rouge joue la guitar,” he murmurs in what I’m guessing he thinks is a seductive voice. 

“That’s so lovely, what does it mean?” I ask with a vague idea that it’s not romantic at all. I glance at Graham and wait for him to fight back.

“The pink pig plays the guitar,” Graham translates for me and I burst out laughing.

“So what does the little red hen play?” I ask Ryen and his smirk slides off his face to glare at Graham.

“You outed me.”

“Beat it, weirdo,” Graham says and gives his brother a slight shove. But Ryen doesn’t seem too hurt by the bit of innocent teasing. He’s almost immediately chatting up a pretty blonde closer to his own age. She blushes at whatever he says. “Sorry about him.”

“It’s fine,” I say with a laugh. “Did he know what he was saying?”

“Not really. He picked up a handful of phrases while I was learning French, from videos or listening to me practice. Held onto them to use as pick up lines, claiming it didn’t matter what he said as long as it was in French, girls would swoon over it.”

I laugh and lean into Graham as the night grows chilly, the sun sinking below the horizon and leaving us bathed in fire and starlight. “He’s going to be a load of trouble, isn’t he?”

“You have no idea,” Graham says. “I’m starting to worry he might have already gone farther than I have with --”

He cuts himself off and shoves a hand through his hair. I bite my lip at the way his bangs feather up in the night breeze and hope his mother doesn’t notice and swoop in to fix them.

“You’re worried he might have what?”

“Nothing,” he says and his shoulders lift a little. Stiff and rigid. I change the subject then, hoping it’ll help him relax if I ask him about something non-family related. So I ask him about the school he went to and then some of the tutors he’s had with all the traveling he’s done since he was nine or ten years old.

We wander the amphitheater and he introduces me to his father, who seems nice, although he doesn’t say a whole lot. Then to Peeta and Katniss, who seem to have only a passing interest in meeting me, too occupied with whatever adventure they have afoot. Typical ten year olds. But they tell me all about their own sports and their summer plans for fun when I ask. They’re bright flashes of joy and life in the night and almost finish each other’s sentences in this weird method of back and forth communication, feeding off one another in a way that speaks of a years long friendship. 

When Katniss’ father, Sage Everdeen, shows up to get them back to the lodge for bed, I get the chance to meet him too.

“Your city put on quite the show for the Olympics,” he says to me as Katniss and Peeta try to sneak off and he keeps them in place with just a look. Not a stern look, per se, but one that both kids respond to quickly. “Graham says you were able to enjoy several of the events yourself.”

We talk a little about how hosting the Olympics helped the university I attend and the facilities they left behind mean training athletes and a rotating parade of Olympic trials in future years that will hopefully keep some income in the area.

“A pleasure to meet you, Miss Everett,” he says to me at the end, and I find myself blushing for some reason. He’s a handsome man, too. Engaging and friendly in a way that’s different from Eirik, but still comforting.

“It’s not that late,” Katniss argues with her father when we wrap up our conversation.

“Your mother and Prim left almost an hour ago.”

“She’s six! We’re both ten now! Can’t we talk about this?” Katniss complains, but she and Peeta both follow him anyways.

“Sage is indispensable here. He teaches skiing lessons, shooting lessons, leads guided hikes, helps run summer camps. And somewhere in there, he coaches Katniss. She and Peeta are getting into competing now too and he plans on traveling with both of them as much as possible.

“Sounds busy,” I say and Graham shrugs.

“Yeah the Everdeens are a big part of the Skadi family.”

“Is he…” I’m not entirely sure how to ask without being gauche, but Graham seems to understand my question.

“Arapaho,” he answers simply.

Eirik stops by to chat for a moment after that, and as the night draws to a close, I’m left with only Graham’s mother to meet.  Unsure that I’m ready for that, I ask Graham about the waterfall hike Michael mentioned. She seems to have disappeared anyways. 

“Penelope didn’t seem too interested in a hike, though,” I finish and shrug.

“I’ll take you,” he offers right away.

“Really?” Preppy Graham in the woods. Not something I was expecting. Then again...he skis cross country. That’s very outdoorsy. I guess this is just the summertime equivalent.

“Sure. I’m off on Thursday morning. If you don’t already have plans for that day.”

“I do now,” I tell him with a smile. Hopefully Penny won’t mind too much.

We’ve somehow wandered away from the crowd and I once more glance up at the stars, my breath catching at their beauty winking at me through the trees above me. Something brushes my ear and I flinch, relaxing when I realize it’s Graham tucking back some of my hair. I hold perfectly still, my eyes focused on him as I wait for the kiss that I hope is coming.

“Savannah! Your hour’s long gone!” Penelope says as she tromps over to us and Graham steps away from me, the stiff mask of politesse back on his face.

_ Damnit, Penny!  _ I want to shout, but instead I remind Graham that we have a date for Thursday. He smiles once more before Penelope links our arms and whisks me off into the night.

“Okay, girl. Start talking and sharing your secrets because I have literally never heard that guy laugh until tonight.”

“We both have massively annoying younger brothers,” I tell her and leave it at that, instead asking about her and Michael, fairly certain I saw them sneak into the trees around the time Graham and I were talking to Ryen.

We stay up late, our talk meandering around school and parents and a hundred other things. Michael thinking about joining the military. Why Pringles are stupidly addictive and why is it that sometimes you just got to have the cheap Taco Bell tacos, even though you know they’re not really authentic and you know half a dozen better places to get tacos.

Penny talks a little about what it’s like on Wyoming’s cheerleading squad, which makes me think of my shoe box filled with letters back home, tied up with a red ribbon. It’s already full and I’ll need to start a new one or get rid of some of the letters from Graham. I don’t think I’m ready to let go of any of those letter yet, though.

“If you thought he was such a stiff snob, why’d you agree to go on a date with him in the first place?” I ask Penelope when I’m hanging on the edge of sleep.

“Because. I didn’t realize how bad it was. I don’t spend a whole lot of time up at Skadi and ever since we graduated high school, I just haven’t been around him that much. And he was going to the Olympics. Imagine the stories I’ll get to tell my kids or my grandkids if he actually gets a medal one day. ‘I went on a date with a gold medalist, you know,’” she says in a crackling, warbling voice. “Plus he’s hot.”

I snort and shift to get more comfortable. Her words about going on a date with him just so she’d have a story to tell strike deep in me, though. Discordant and clashing. It’s just as I’m slipping under that I remember him remarking that it seemed to be the big draw in some circles and I wonder if Graham’s ever been on a date with someone who just wanted to know him, not the semi-famous athlete.

The days fly and soon it’s Thursday. I dress and pack my bag according to Graham’s suggestions since I haven’t done a whole lot of hiking in my life. Penelope wishes me luck with the bugs and I drive my motorcycle back up the mountain to Skadi. He’s waiting for me when I park the bike.

“Hi,” he says with a smile. I lose my footing a little bit and step too close. Before I can apologize for my awkward entry, he lifts his arms. And then he’s hugging me.

Never mind the waterfalls. This, I decide, is the highlight of the day. Just like that evening on my bike when I felt like his body was engulfing mine in warmth, an embrace from a giant teddy bear, only this time it’s a million times better. Because I know this time he’s holding me not because he has to or because he’s expected to, but because he wants to. I’m not sure I want him to let go.

He does, but only to take my hand in his. As we walk the trail, he doesn’t let go of that.

Graham points out the best views and waits while I pause to take pictures. His voice quiet and almost reverent as we move through the woods, further away from the rest of the world. The only loud noise allowed is the clicking and zipping of my camera as I snap pictures and forward the film. We stop to sit on a fallen log and take a break, sharing snacks that he packed for us.

“When do you think you’ll be in Utah again?” I ask as we eat.

“Next month sometime,” he says and I nod. “Why?”

“It’s just...I was thinking maybe I should introduce you to my family.”

His lips curve up in a slow smile and he looks down at the half eaten granola bar in his hands. “Thought we weren’t dating long distance?”

“Well if you’re in Utah, then technically that’s not long distance,” I point out with a smirk and he laughs.

“No, I don’t think so.”

“Why not?”

“Meeting the parents...that’s a girlfriend boyfriend thing, isn’t it?”

“Then you’ve tricked me! I’ve already met yours!” I tease.

“Just my father,” he argues and avoids my playful swat, capturing my wrist in his hand and lifting it to his lips. He kisses the underside, the sensitive skin right where my hand starts. “You know, I don’t have a picture of you.”

“What?” I ask, breathless and overwhelmed at the sensations coursing up my arm and through my body.

“I’d like to have one to take with me. Or is that another boyfriend-girlfriend thing?”

“I guess that’s okay,” I breathe out the words and he smiles as he picks up my camera and snaps a picture of me. “Wait! I wasn’t ready! I’m all sweaty from hiking!”

“But you look gorgeous just as you are,” he says and snaps another one as I laugh. I reach for the camera and he evades me, standing and stepping onto the trail. He gets one more before I reach him and then he’s holding the camera over his head, out of my reach.

“I don’t know how many are left on that,” I protest and he grins down at me.

“If they’re all of you, they’ll be perfect.”

“I think I know where Ryen learned the flattery,” I accuse and jump futilely.

“Except I mean it,” he says and I pause, still reaching for the camera but with one hand braced on his chest. I bring my reaching hand down and wind it through his hair, not caring about the sweat at his roots as I bring his face down to mine and kiss him.

I’m not sure what happens. I get lost in the kiss and wind up with my back against a tree and my hand under his shirt again, holding his body as close to mine as I can get him, my nails digging into the planes of muscle on his back. He gasps out my name as he pulls away from me and I only just have enough presence of mind to snatch the camera from his hands. He freezes as I snap a picture of his bewildered face.

“Cheater,” he accuses with no heat behind it and a smile forming on his face again.

“What if I want one of you?” Then I turn in his arms and move close, hold the camera above us and then grumble that I’m not sure if I’ll get us both.

“Here,” he offers and his longer arm gives us better odds.

“Take a few just to be safe,” I say and he does. On the last one, he turns his head and nuzzles my neck, making me laugh out loud and hold tight to the arm wrapped around my waist. “Alright troublemaker, give me my camera back.”

He drops it in my palm and we continue our hike. Up to the waterfall, which is beautiful as promised. We sit on the banks of the river flowing away from it and eat lunch. We talk while I sketch and shyly turn my book around to show him.

“Beautiful. You’re really good,” he murmurs with no surprise in his voice. He doesn’t press to see more, but I think I see the desire in his eyes, so I flip pages and show him some of what I drew during the Olympics. “This looks the way a cold wind feels,” he says of one of them. It makes me smile, him seeing a feeling in nothing more than abstract lines.

“I think you might be developing an artist’s eye,” I tease and nudge him with my shoulder.

When we make it back to the lodge, my camera is used up. “Is there a one hour photo in town?” 

“Yeah, I’ll show you where it is,” he offers and hands me my helmet with a smile. The breeze as we drive feels good, cooling me down after the long hike through sun baked forest. We drop off the film and poke around the pharmacy as we wait. I talk him into a package of licorice and he buys a set of colored pencils for me to add some shading to my sketches while the images are still fresh in my mind. He watches while I work and it’s somehow not at all awkward.

Graham ordered double prints and insists on paying for them when they’re done. We stand in the shade of the awnings outside and flip through them together. I find myself grinning stupidly at some of the shots we took of ourselves. Goofy faces, off centered. And happy. They’re perfectly imperfect and I love them.

The day itself is almost close to perfect, but eventually I have to return Graham to Skadi and myself to Penelope. I’m leaving here in a few days, and I’m going to miss him.

The thought kicks me in the chest with the force of it and I’m still reeling from the realization as I park my bike and Graham hands over the second helmet. Which is why I shouldn’t be surprised when the pixie looking woman who Michael pointed out as Mrs. Mellark at the bonfire intercepts us on our way back into the lobby and kicks the point further home.

“Mom,” Graham sounds surprised, his hand flinching against mine.

“You have a shift later tonight. I trust you’ve given yourself enough time to clean up beforehand? You can’t work looking like that,” she waves a hand to indicate his sun kissed ears and cheeks, his trail worn appearance. She speaks in an all-business, no nonsense tone. She doesn’t even wait for an answer from him before turning her blue eyes on me. “And you must be Savannah from Salt Lake City.”

If anyone in this family deserves to be described as an iceberg, it’s this woman. 

But then I think of Penelope and just how many of her friends believe Graham to be cold or stuck up when really I think he’s just shy and overly critical of himself and weighed down with responsibilities and expectations that he sometimes takes too seriously. Maybe his mother is the same way.

“It’s nice to finally meet you, Mrs. Mellark,” I offer in as polite a voice as I can manage. She examines me for a moment. Unless I’m imagining things, her eyes linger on our joined hands.

“Graham, go inside and--”

“In a minute,” he cuts her off and her eyes jump up to his face in astonishment.

“Excuse me?”

“I’d like to see Savannah safely on her way first,” he says.

“Well,” Mrs. Mellark huffs and eyes me again. “Don’t take too long.”

She leaves and Graham turns to me with an apology. “I’m sorry. I was hoping we’d have time to grab a cold drink at the cafe or something before you left.”

“But work calls,” I say with a shrug. I stand on my toes and kiss his cheek. “Thank you. I had an amazing time today.”

I hand him his envelope of pictures and turn back towards the garage where I left my bike, but his grip on my hand won’t let me go just yet.

“So wait...does this mean we’re...dating? As in officially?”

“Come meet my family in Salt Lake and then we’ll call it official,” I say, unable to stop the foolish grin from taking over my face in response to the one on his.


	7. The Taste of Temptation

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was going to wait to post but I suck at holding onto chapters once they're done. We're gonna start earning that M rating here. Also it might get bumped up to E in future chapters. Undecided yet, will keep you posted. ;)

**_Salt Lake City - October 2002_ **

My eyes are closed and I’ve forced my breathing into an even rhythm, but I’m wide awake and not sleeping anytime soon. My heart still gallops in my chest. I clutch tight to my covers as the unbearable heat returns, filling every cell in my body with an intense yearning.

Graham did this to me. Or maybe I did it to myself.

He barely touched me on our date tonight, but he’s left me wanting more. So much more. Everything, really.

Behind closed eyelids, I relive it over and over again. How he held my hand, his thumb lazily tracing circles almost the entire time. The beauty of the music filling every pocket of air, almost soul rending in its raw, emotional power. The tickle of his breath in my ear as he’d whisper translations of some of the more stunning lyrics.

He took me to an opera. And I may never be the same again.

Then there was the burn of his palm over my lower back with two layers of cloth between our skin as we left the theater. His nose brushing over mine as we stood in the shadows of night, making me breathless even before the first touch of his lips to mine. His fingers toying with the hem of my skirt as we kissed. How close his fingertips were to brushing my thighs, close enough for me to feel the heat and the electric charge of their proximity, and yet they never once touched skin. The spread of fever through my body the longer we stood there kissing and not advancing. Then his hand sliding up to my waist, gripping fabric and sending my pulse through the roof as he pulled me closer instead of sliding his warm hands beneath my skirt like I wanted him to do.

In the end, we remembered that we were standing in an open parking area and pried ourselves apart so he could drive me home. I spent the entire drive sitting on my hands to keep from mauling him. We’re not ready for that, I kept telling myself even as my enraged body screamed in denial. 

I repeat it now in a vain attempt to calm my racing heart and raging desires. We’re not ready.

All we’ve had are short visits and a handful of dates or evenings with my family in the months since my time in Wyoming. He’s actually in Salt Lake City more often than I was expecting, what with the jump facilities they have here but not at Skadi. Despite the limited time we’ve had together, there is good news! My mother has essentially stopped giving me warnings or grumbling about my love life. 

At first she’d been wary, even hostile towards Graham when I brought him home for a family dinner one night, until he made it clear in both his words and his actions that he not only wants me to graduate but more importantly is actively supportive. He’s driven me to and from work and class when my bike was in the shop while he was here. When I had my wisdom teeth out near the end of the summer, it was Graham who took me to the dentist, brought me home, even cared for me whenever he wasn’t tied up with training. 

He’s started an online curriculum for accounting and has spent a few quiet nights at the campus library with me, studying or completing assignments on his laptop while I work on mine. He met Stefan there one night and I nervously watched as they seemed to do this strange dance around each other. Right up until Graham mentioned that he often films training sessions and competitions, which led to him mentioning that he’s been wanting to try a digital video camera but hasn’t had time to research them. Stefan had about five hundred suggestions and recommendations. They spent over an hour talking megapixels and editing software until I finally just blocked them out to get my own work done. I am glad, though, that my best friend and boyfriend seem to get along.

By the end of the summer, my mother admitted that Graham appears to be everything a young man ought to be. Polite, considerate, not overly aggressive or arrogant, clean and tidy, a complete gentleman, and most importantly in her eyes, dedicated.

But I’m still left here lying in bed. Yearning.

Actually, he’s barely touched me since he was here for the Olympics. Part of that has been a lack of opportunity. Even though she’s changed her tune somewhat about Graham, my mother has been one of the factors preventing us from having much private time alone. She hovers when we’re here. Has impeccable timing in interrupting with phone calls reminding me to pick up milk or one of the twins on my way home from seeing Graham. Like she’s developed a Mother-Hen radar that goes off anytime his hands start to stray. And I’ve learned that the mood, once killed, is often not easy to resurrect.

Graham has his own hotel room while he’s here, but it’s up in the mountains, which means we spend most of our time here in the city and real privacy is almost an hour away. I’ve thought about suggesting a quiet night in his hotel room, but what sort of message does that send? He still opens doors and insists on paying for everything. He says when he wants something, he goes after it, but then he refrains from pushing physical boundaries, leaving me wondering if he just doesn’t want  _ me _ that way or if maybe there’s something else holding him back. Maybe the source of that awkward first kiss and his uncertainty the one time we did makeout, his unfinished comments about his much younger brother going further...

It’s hard to believe that our first date was a year ago. He took me to dinner at the same French restaurant one night last week, almost an anniversary dinner of sorts. I ordered wine for myself, with his help pronouncing the words with the right accent. I feel like I’ve come to know Graham so well over the past year and yet if you add up the time we’ve actually been in the same room, it amounts to very little. 

Some days I feel like I’m living in a fairy tale. His treatment of me rivals Prince Charming and sends me floating on clouds. Other days, I want him to shed the gentlemanly ways along with all his clothes. Like tonight.

But we’re not ready for that. And yet I want it.

Eventually I slip into sleep and dream. When I leave those dreams, I’m still in the same fevered state as when I entered them. Fueled by gauzy and smeared painted images of passionate embraces. The need to lay myself bare, a feast for his consumption. 

I spend the entire day in class fighting daydreams, a ridiculous smile, and a half aroused state that I can’t seem to shake. He’s supposed to be coming over tonight to carve pumpkins with my family and I need to get control of myself.

I’ve just managed it when I open the door and Graham’s standing there in jeans, a dark red button down shirt with the collar open, and a deep brown leather jacket. The fever from last night digs a trench in my blood vessels and sets up camp.

Must he be so damn sexy?

“Hi,” I manage to say and invite him in.

We make it to the kitchen before I realize that he’s carrying a bouquet of flowers. My cheeks heat for a new reason as he greets my mother, comments on the delicious scent of dinner, and then offers the bouquet to me.

“Thank you,” I say and shift on my feet. “Did you want to sit down?”

“Not yet,” he says and then offers my mother some help, leaving me with the bouquet as he washes his hands, rolls up his sleeves, and starts chopping vegetables for the salad. I’ve got nowhere to put the flowers again, except maybe the blender. But then I’ll have to explain that. And in the meantime, I’m just standing here like an idiot instead of helping with dinner preparations.

“You gonna hold those flowers all night, Sav?” Garrett asks as he wanders in and grabs a Sprite from the fridge. Graham eyes me for a second, a little bewildered. I groan and fill the blender with water before peeling off the tissue paper wrapping and dropping the blooms in place.

Graham stares at the arrangement as I shift it to the kitchen table. Since this is already a disaster, might as well go for broke.

“We don’t...have a vase,” I explain pathetically. I bite my lip and pluck at my sleeve. His expression clears then and he tilts his head to examine the flowers.

“Would that count as art? Maybe a postmodernism commentary on the status of romance in our world?” I can tell he’s not picking on me when he wipes his palms on his jeans and stands next to me, one arm across his chest, other elbow resting on his wrist, chin in hand as he contemplates the centerpiece on the kitchen table.

“If we’re going to call it art, it needs a name.”

“Flowers in blender one?”

“It’d actually be Flowers in blender two,” I admit guiltily.

“Chopped dates.”

“Pureed romance,” I offer and he chuckles then returns to helping make dinner.

As we eat, everyone takes a turn naming the artwork, although Brianna makes a point to tell Graham that the flowers are lovely.

The table is cleared and then covered with several cut open brown paper grocery sacs. Laughter and the sawing sounds of slicing and scooping fills the kitchen as we work. We carve into the night and when we’re done, giant piles of stringy orange pumpkin guts litter the table. A bowl off to the side overflows with seeds, waiting to be rinsed and roasted. But first, Brianna sets the top back in hers and smiles brightly.

“Ta-da!” she says and Graham takes a quick picture of the gathering of jack-o-lanterns covering my family’s kitchen table.

“These are great,” Garrett says, adjusting the plastic glasses on his  _ Harry Potter _ pumpkin. “Let’s put them on the porch.”

Mom brings the tea lights as we each carry our own jack-o-lantern, and soon we’re standing in the chill of night. Taking the camera from Graham, my mother attempts to capture the jack-o-lanterns in their lit state. Harper’s is carved with the wide eyes of an owl, standing sentry next to Garrett’s. Brianna’s happy, smiling one next to Grahams with classic jagged teeth and narrowed eyes. Mine is the odd one out, painted in shades of green with multiple narrow holes carved into it to imitate the needles of a cactus once the candle inside is lit, a pink flower and a fake mouse pinned to the top.

I try to snuggle deeper into my coat as Harper rearranges them to his liking. My head tips back and I close my eyes to breathe in the cooling air.

“I should probably head back,” Graham says and I open my eyes.

“Stay just a little longer? We could watch a movie or…?” I ask and he steps closer so he can speak softly and only I’ll hear.

“I want to. But I’ve got early training tomorrow.”

I nod and hold my coat tighter around myself, hide my disappointment. A dog barks incessantly on the next block over, the sound crisp and clear in the cool fall evening.

“Is there any of that spiced cider left?” he asks and I peer up at him as he scrubs a hand over the back of his neck.

“I believe so,” I say and he rocks on his heels.

“I wouldn’t say ‘no’ to another mug of that.”

“Wouldn’t take too long to drink it. Not nearly as long as a movie,” I offer and he smiles, stuffs his hands in his pockets as we follow my family back inside. The pumpkin carving clean up and cider prep is over fairly quick and my siblings all wander off to their rooms as Graham and I settle on the couch with our drinks.

“I’m uh, sorry about the flowers. I had no idea.”

“It’s not a big deal,” I reassure him.

“Maybe. I just feel like a jerk.”

“How could you know we don’t own a vase? It’s just not something we use a lot around here.”

“Next time, I’ll get a vase to go with the flowers. Unless you’d like to continue the series.”

“Hmmm. Mixed hopes.”

“Stirred aspirations.”

“Liquified dreams,” I say and he relaxes into the couch beside me.

He pushes on his rolled up his sleeves and I stuff one hand between my thighs and squeeze tight. He’s been wearing the button downs without ties lately, the top buttons left undone and the open collar framing his throat. I never thought I’d salivate this much over a throat, but just like with his forearms, any hint of skin with him is practically scandalous, leaving me wondering about the taste and scent and texture and warmth of any peeks that I get and everything that I can’t see. 

In other words, I’m currently obsessing over the idea of licking up the length of Graham’s throat.

I wrap myself in a blanket to keep warm while we drink our cider, although I’d much rather cozy up to him. I don’t remember much from the days he took care of me after having my wisdom teeth out, but the one vivid thing I can recall is that I spent a large chunk of time cuddled up in his arms. 

One mug of cider turns into two. Thirty minutes to an hour. We keep finding things to talk about until I turn around and realize it’s late and my mother’s already gone to bed.

Finally.

I set aside my mug and face Graham. Would it be too forward to just haul off and kiss him now? We’ve had chances to kiss in the last few months, although not much more than that. It’s been lovely but I’d kill for just a few minutes to simply make out with him right about now. Is it too much to ask for a little under the clothes groping?

“If we keep this up, you’re going to run out of questions to ask me in your letters,” I tease him. He sets aside his mug and coughs oddly. In just a few weeks, his season will start. I’ve already got a shoe box and an orange ribbon ready to go for letters and postcards. “If you still plan on writing.”

“I do. Unless you don’t want me to,” he says and we fall silent after I tell him that I want him to write to me. We stare at one another and listen to the sound of a car drive by outside. I bite the inside of my cheek and try to imprint on my memory the way the shadows fall on his face in the faint lamplight so that maybe I can try to sketch him like this later.

The heater kicks on and my nostrils twitch at the first puff of singed air as it floats over me. As if in silent agreement, we move towards each other at the same time. I grab hold of his shoulders as we kiss. Soft at first but as I slide my hands around his neck to bring myself closer, his tongue teases my lips and I open for him. Quiet moans flare to life between us as he rises up and yanks the blanket over my head and onto his shoulders, to cover us both as he lays me out on the couch beneath him. He loses his balance, his foot thumping onto the floor to catch it.

The change presses his hips into mine and I roll mine up to meet him. He moans again and devours my mouth. I comb my fingers through his hair as he lifts his head and pants over my lips. His hands are wedged between us and the couch, holding his weight off me. Wrapping my legs around his hips, I tangle the blanket with our limbs and pull him closer.

Graham curses and hides his face in my neck, spreading heat and wet kisses over my skin as I lift my hips in a slow rhythm and gasp at the feel of him, rock hard beneath his jeans.

“Touch me?” I whisper desperately.

“What?”

“Touch me, Graham. Please,” I’m begging and don’t care. He shifts his weight and his lips go still as one hand skims over my ribs then down my side, my sweater and shirt a barrier between our skin.

It’s so simple but feels so illicit when his fingers trace hesitantly over my navel. I bite my lip and hold myself perfectly still to follow each caress and the electric buzz left beneath my skin when his moves on. He’s breathing heavily into my ear as his hand explores further. His fingers brush the underside of my breast and he flinches. I cry out softly at his retreat and turn my head to look at him.

“Please?”

His broad palm covers my breast then and squeezes gently. I whimper at the heat of his touch, strong enough to reach me through my bra. Or maybe that’s just a sign of how much I want this.

“Is this okay?” he asks and I move one hand under my sweater to guide his down off my breast. He blinks rapidly and opens his mouth, but whatever words he was about to say cut off in a strangled groan when I push his hand back in place, under fabric this time so his bare palm scorches my nipple unhindered. My eyes flutter shut in bliss as we knead flesh together.

Once I’m sure he’s not going to stop, I leave his hand to torment me on it’s own. I arch my back and twist, frustrated until I manage to unclasp my bra and the loosened garment gives him more freedom to touch, to explore.

“Should I…?”

He seems unsure of himself and when his thumb strokes across my nipple, I can’t stop the sound I make. He nearly yanks his hand back away from me until I cover it with mine again, holding his in place. There’s at least three layers between my hand and his this time, but as he blinks down at me, bewildered, I shake my head.

“Don’t stop.”

He squeezes and caresses again. Rolls the tight peak between his fingers and huffs out a sound akin to relief when I ask him to keep doing that, my hips bucking with each shock of pleasure it sends to my core.

One step further leads to me only wanting more.

“Other one,” I complain when the heavy feeling of need becomes unbearable. He tries to shift his weight to get both hands under my sweater, but that crushes me into the cushions and I grunt at the sudden weight on me.

“Sorry. Are you okay? Savannah?” he asks and deprives me of his touch. I grab at his hands, trying to keep him from running away from me.

“I’m fine. Just don’t stop.”

“I don’t...how?” he asks and I stop grabbing at him to wait and watch as he tries to figure out how to touch both my breasts at the same time without squashing me. His brow furrows in frustration and he huffs as he sits up on his knees.

“Graham…?” I whisper and he stares down at me. “This is probably terrible timing, but...exactly how far have you been with a girl?”

“What? I...second base?” he asks a little helplessly and I bite my cheek to keep from laughing at his flustered state, knowing that if I laugh now, he’ll retreat faster than I can say “Stay.”

I hold still and watch him work through his fears until he sighs. “Okay please don’t laugh but...however far I’ve been with you...that’s the furthest I’ve gone.” His confession renders me speechless. I can’t laugh. I can barely think past what his words seem to imply.

“What about you?” he whispers, and I find my voice to answer him.

“We’ll have to try a few more things before I can say the same thing,” I admit sheepishly and wait for his judgement. He swallows but nods. I think I’ve got the picture now, but there's just one more thing I need to know. 

“When you kissed me back in February, was that...?” I don’t know how to ask without potentially offending him so I stop and hope he can fill in the blanks.

“I -- that was -- it was obvious wasn’t it?”

“Your first kiss was with me?” I ask hopefully and he nods, his cheeks turning a ruddy shade of embarrassment. 

It’s so barbaric, but a strange feeling of possessive satisfaction fills me at the thought that I could be his first in so many ways. That I already have. Maybe his first  _ and _ his only. That he could still be my first and only in at least a few ways. I reach up to grasp his shirt and bring him back down to me.

“Why the wait?”

“Why’s it matter?”

“It doesn’t,” I say and run my hands up his chest then back down to his belt. I toy with the clasp, wanting so much to open this up and push further, but I leave it buckled for now. I don’t want to push him so fast that I push him away. I don’t want him to think less of me for the paths I’ve already traveled with someone else. “I’m just curious.”

“I’d rather keep kissing you now and explain it later.”

“Okay,” I murmur right before his lips join mine again. His left hand wanders beneath my shirt and pauses. I nip at his lower lip and roll my body, hoping he’ll get the idea. Either he does or he finds some courage on his own because he caresses up my torso and finally pays worship to my left breast.

“Yes,” I whisper when his lips meander down my chin to my neck and I arch beneath him, writhing until my head is propped on the couch arm and he’s still touching me. I claw at his shirt, pulling the tails from his jeans and then massaging his back. “Yes, keep kissing me.”

“Can I…?”

“Can you what?” I gasp as he pinches my nipple and a hot shard of lust bursts through me. My legs snap around him in an embrace and he groans as I rub myself against his erection and my fingers curl, nails digging into his skin. “Ask me, Graham. Chances are I’m gonna want you to,” I whisper and turn my head to kiss him and suck on his tongue. Only for a second before the need to taste other parts of him takes over.

“Can I kiss them?” he asks, breathless as his hips push into me in response to my mouth on his throat. He smells so good. Warm and inviting. Tastes the same way.

“Yes,” I gasp and we shift again. I rearrange the blanket to hide him and me as he moves layers of clothes. I have to bite my fist when his lips close around one nipple. He dives straight in to sucking and licking, but while his technique is erratic and maybe a touch rough, he’s really enthusiastic. So much that I’m gripping the back of the couch in one hand and his hair in the other, shaking and strung up tight beneath him, teeth digging furrows in my bottom lip and eyes squeezed shut, legs clamped vise like around him. I’m growing even more desperate by the second when I hear it.

A shuffling footstep and a cabinet shutting in the kitchen.

I push Graham off of me and cover his mouth with my hand for one second before he hears it too and turns his head towards the sounds. We roll and scramble to face the windows, laying on our sides with him behind me and the blanket covering us so it looks like we were just watching the TV on mute. 

Who turned it on? Has it been on this whole time? Who is in the kitchen and how can I punish them for this interruption? Why did I waste time wearing a bra today when it’s just twisted and tangled under my sweater and completely in the way right now?

One of his broad hands covers my jean clad hip beneath the blanket and I’m consumed with thoughts of that hand on my bare hip. Wandering around to my front then between my legs. Oh god just imagining his thick fingers touching me there has me wriggling with need.

Graham sucks in a breath behind me and his fingers clench on my hip as we listen to whoever it is search through the fridge, pour themselves a drink.

But now that I’m completely still, I can feel him pressed up against my rear. I give a slight rock back and Graham turns his head to bury his face in couch cushions. It’s so wrong with someone so close to walking in on us, but I do it again. And again. Once more and his hand is splayed low on my belly, his pinky over my clit, teasing me, although he’s got no way of knowing that as he holds me pressed back against him. Tight enough to feel his entire rigid frame, the frantic rise and fall of his chest. So tight I can’t move or torment him any further.

Eventually, whoever it is returns to bed. Graham releases a sigh of relief, but I’m about ready to drag him out to the car he drove here just so we can continue uninterrupted. Maybe if we drove up into the mountains somewhere or made use of his hotel room--

“I really should go now,” he whispers. Disappointment rushes in on me, but his hand moves up to hold me round my waist as he drops soft kisses on my neck. “You’re going to have to kick me out.”

“Then you won’t be leaving,” I whisper back.

“Savannah...I want to keep going so much. With you. But not like this.”

“Then how?” I ask and he nibbles on my ear. “When?”

“I don’t know, but I know I don’t want it to be rushed or with us both jumping at tiny sounds, waiting for interruptions.” It’s so sweet, and exactly what I want, too. I’m gathering my thoughts when he whispers more to me. “I want us to take our time so I can learn everything about pleasing you.”

_ Just ravish me now!  _ I want to say as desire throbs inside me.

But Graham squeezes my hip one more time and struggles free of the blanket. He’s busy peering through the wide doorway into the kitchen and tucking his shirt back in, affording me the chance to take a good look at him. His messed up hair and flushed cheeks. I bite my lip when my eyes reach the noticeable bulge in his jeans. 

I have to shake myself into motion, fumbling with trying to get my bra clasped again beneath my clothes. Graham notices my dilemma and offers help. I blink up at him and then stand slowly, turn my back to him and keep watch for intrusions as I lift my sweater and shirt. His hands are warm on my back and the bra tugs tight for a second or two. He takes awhile to figure it out, but I take that as just further proof that he was telling the truth earlier.

“I think I got it,” he whispers and his hands trail slowly down my back, taking my sweater with them. His fingers play with the waist of my jeans for a second. When he removes his hands from me, we both take a shuddering breath before I’m able to walk him to the door.

We solidify our plans for one more date while he’s here and then I open the door because he’s right. It’s late and he needs to be up early tomorrow for training. I don’t want to be the thing that gets in the way of his success.

He leans down and presses his lips to mine. I hold tight to the door and the frame as his lips move with mine. Bright swirls of colors dance behind my eyelids and beneath my skin. I’m trembling and shaking when he lifts his head to stare down at me.

“You should...go inside and warm up,” he whispers. I don’t know how to tell him it’s not because I’m cold. Instead, I twist my fingers in his hair and give him one more kiss.

“Good night,” I murmur and he hesitates for a second, making me laugh softly. “Get going. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

After he’s gone, I lie in bed and clutch my covers to my chest. With my eyes closed, I try to slow my breathing and calm my heart. But there’s no stopping the fever that still has hold of my body. The yearning made only stronger by small bites of temptation.


	8. The Little Snags

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please note the new rating for this chapter. Got a little more graphic than I had originally planned. I'd apologize but I'm really not sorry. ;-P
> 
> For those of you who are still waiting for updates from the other stories in this universe, I do apologize for the wait there. Unfortunately, the muse has been hot for Graham and Savannah. I won't bore you with all the details, suffice it to say that I will get back to both Outside Chance and Outside the Lines as soon as I can.

_ Ding! _

“I’m really sorry about this,” Graham apologizes for the tenth time tonight as we step onto the elevator.

“It’s fine,” I assure him. I lean against the back wall and wait as the doors close. The carriage sways into motion and I listen to the hum. “Remind me why you couldn’t just let me pay for dinner?”

“Because?” He motions with his hand and I narrow my eyes at him, waiting for some sort of sexist comment I have a feeling is coming. “I like taking care of you.”

And there it is. I can feel my eyebrow practically climbing off my face. “So you drive us over an hour out of the city while we listen to both our stomachs growling, and then have to wait for the guy at the desk to get you another room key and chit chat skiing with you just to get your wallet so you can  _ take care of me _ ?”

_ Ding! _

“I made the reservations; I should pay,” he says indignantly to my back as I march off the elevator and pause because I have no idea where his room is. 

“This is not the 1950’s,” I grumble. Besides, he’s already paid for most of our dates. Actually all of them. He should be able to step back and let me pay for one dinner. 

He takes the lead. I wait as he unlocks the door. I can see his shoulders climbing up towards his ears. The sight makes me feel a slight twinge of regret. Maybe I shouldn’t be so hard on him. He’s leaving tomorrow and I probably won’t see him again for months.

“It’s just the right thing to do.”

“Making me go hungry is the right thing to do?” I ask and watch his eyes flash with something I can’t name. It’s gone too fast. But he purses his lips together as the door swings open and he waits for me to enter first.

I wait just inside the door and look around as he searches the room. Everything is so neat. His skis already packed and ready to go. I catch sight of a few dress shirts and pants hanging in the closet, a garment bag right behind them, ready to pack the clothes in it in seconds. The ironing board still set up in the bathroom, with the iron set out on it to cool. The bed impeccably made and the cushions on the couch fluffed and in perfect alignment. I’m not sure if he did that or the cleaning service did, but the entire room is  _ just so _ .

He’s always so careful with everything. Maybe he sometimes blunders in social situations, but details like forgetting his wallet isn’t something that usually happens with Graham. It also occurs to me that maybe his insistence is because he knows I wouldn’t be able to afford the place he planned on taking me. I'm not sure if it would be better or worse if that’s the case.

I shove down a groan of frustration at myself and pick up a leather bound binder sitting next to the TV. I’m just so hungry right now and I’ll admit that maybe I’ve gotten used to the level of reliability Graham usually brings, but that’s no excuse for tearing him down the first time he makes a mistake. 

I’m not just hungry either. I’m on edge because my mother ambushed me this morning, making it clear that she was in the kitchen the other night and reiterating my need to be careful. Learning that my mother interrupted us making out — and  _ knew _ that’s what she was doing — was mortifying enough, but then she followed it up with questions about my most recent gynecology visit and whether or not I’m on birth control. Prying much? Ugh. 

I made an appointment for next week with my doctor anyways because she probably has a point. I seriously doubt that we’ll make it all the way tonight, but the pill takes awhile to kick in and I don’t want to take any unnecessary risks. I’d prefer to be ready when the time comes. But my lingering unease with my mother and the fact that I’m hungry beyond reason means that I’ve turned into the thing I despise.

“How busy is the restaurant downstairs going to be?” I ask. He blinks at me in surprise.

“You still want to have dinner?”

“I’m still hungry, aren’t you?” I say as gently as possible. I know I miss the mark, but I’m trying.

“It probably won’t be too busy. It’s a weeknight and the snows haven’t really set in just yet.”

The options look good so I nod and drop the menu back on the dresser. “Find your wallet?”

“Yes.”

“Then why don’t we just eat here?” He opens his mouth and I wait for the argument that he’s got a reservation back in the city, but he’s already had to call and push it back. Instead of arguing, he shuts his mouth and looks perturbed. “I know it’s not exactly what you had planned for us tonight, but I’m happy to eat wherever as long as I get to spend time with you.” 

With a curt nod, he offers me his arm. I loop mine through his and soon we’re seated at a table with a basket of rolls and an appetizer on the way.

With food going into my stomach, I’m finally able to admit out loud that I was too harsh. And sometimes these things just happen. And he’s already apologized several times. And I know he doesn’t always deal well with sudden changes.

“I shouldn’t have snapped at you,” I say, contrite as I nibble on a roll.

“No, you’re right. I was being...stubborn and arrogant and obtuse, insisting that we come all the way here just so I could pay for dinner. This is nice, though, right?”

“It’s lovely.” I chew for a moment and watch him shift the flatware. Until it’s just right. The server brings our appetizer. Then I let my eyes roam around the dining room and smile.

“It might not be the five star place you planned on taking me, but it is still pretty swanky,” I say. “The kind of place where you want to stuff your purse full of the rolls because they’re just so good and there’s no extra charge for them, but you’re afraid to because maybe the place has security cameras and frowns upon people removing bread from their dining room.”

“What?” Graham asks, but I can hear the faint notes of laughter forming in his voice.

“You’ve never bagged the rolls for a midnight snack before?”

“Can’t say that I have,” he says. “But I may use that line.”

“For what?” I ask and he taps a finger on the table.

“A game my brothers and I sometimes play.”

“Oh?”

“Rate the Food. Only it’s not a normal rating scale. For example,” he picks up one of the rolls and chews thoughtfully. “These rolls...they’re  _ stuff your pockets with them for a midnight snack  _ good. But…” he offers one of the stuffed mushrooms we ordered to me. Once we’re both eating, he nods and then swallows. He looks so serious that I have to bite back a chuckle. “These are  _ you may lose a finger in the fight to get the last one  _ good.”

I laugh out loud at that and ask him to give me more examples. 

“On a scale of  _ Eaten only if I’m the last man on earth and starving _ to  _ Request as part of my last meal _ ,” he says with a broad smile. “That’s one of my favorites from Ryen. Or  _ So bad I think I tasted a hint of yesterday’s socks  _ from Peeta.”

He keeps going and I’m almost crying with laughter as we make it through the mushrooms and our entrees finally arrive.

“Can I try?” I ask and he waves towards my plate.

“Please.” I take a bite and fix my face into the most serious, contemplative expression I can muster. Graham almost snorts but manages to control the noise before I swallow and deliver my verdict.

“I rate it as... _ Never mind desserts, we won’t have room after we’re done with thi _ s good.”

“Not bad for your first try,” Graham says with a smile. I smirk at him and snatch a bite off his plate. “Oh see that’s a foul!”

“What? I can’t rate your food?”

“You can’t just steal it off my plate before I get a chance to rate it. There are rules to this game!” I make a face at him and stuff my fork in my mouth. The risotto melts on my tongue and I moan slightly.

“ _Good enough to risk the theft_ _penalties_ ,” I say and he grins.

“Now you’ve got the hang of it. My turn,” he grabs a bite of my food and wrinkles his nose. “No way am I skipping dessert for this.”

I gasp at his contradiction of me, but now we’re both relaxed and laughing and that makes conversation flow much more easily between us. So much so that I feel comfortable bringing up the snag we hit earlier tonight. Because everyone is more reasonable with a full belly.

“Can I ask something? And I don’t want you to take it as a criticism, because it’s not. I’m just curious.”

“Okay,” he agrees but I can hear the caution in his voice. I’m careful choosing my words.

“Why was it so important to you to take me to that fancy restaurant? You know I’m okay just grabbing a pizza or a burger somewhere right?”

He taps his fingers on the table and I wait for him to order his thoughts. “A couple reasons, I think. It’s...part of it is we had plans and I’m leaving tomorrow. We might not see each other again for a long time so I wanted everything to be right and — I’m rambling.”

I reach across the table and hold his hand. Slowly, he releases the tension in it. “Graham, I get it. I’m sorry I lost my temper with you.”

“But you were right. I should have been more flexible.”

“Can I ask something else?” He nods and squeezes my hand. “Things happen on the race course or in the air, right? And you have to adapt or make changes?”

“Yes.”

“So why is that easy to deal with but this isn’t?”

“I’m trained within an inch of my life to deal with those kinds of changes. Snowy boot camp, remember?” I smile at his playful answer, glad that I could help him relax.

Help him relax. That’s it! That’s my answer for Penelope. He’s relaxed around me because I try to let him be himself, rigid needs and all. I file that away and refocus because Graham is talking again.

“When I’m skiing, I can adjust because it’s just the skiing. Just the jumping. There’s a second chance in the racing portion if I mess up the jump. A second chance in the next race if I still don’t do well. It’s frustrating and I hate when it happens, but I can use it as a learning experience if I’m always asking myself how I can do better next time. But with everything else in life...there might not be a next time.”

I tilt my head and examine him for a moment. Watch his eyes as they hold steady with mine and he keeps talking. 

“And this is going to sound really old fashioned but I...like doing these things. Opening the doors, paying for dates. You listen to all my rambling about skiing, which you had no interest in before you met me, and it’s like I said before, you let me be myself. I’m not...I’m not perfect, I know that. I try to be but I’m not. You accept that and you hand out second chances like candy at Halloween.” I laugh a little at this and feel my cheeks warm, but he says it with such reverence that I don’t think he meant it as an insult. “You take care of your siblings and expect nothing in return from them. You take care of everyone else in your life, but who takes care of you?”

Hello floor, meet my jaw. 

I shake my head and he looks worried for a second. “You did those things -- the door opening, pulling out chairs -- before you knew anything about me.”

“Well then maybe I really am just stuffy and old fashioned, but I’d like to be the one taking care of your needs.”

The bill arrives then, cutting our conversation and our staring match short. There’s so much more I want to ask him about, but I’m worried that I’ve already pushed far enough. Not to mention his last comment has basically destroyed any chance I had at self control tonight. I’ll get another lecture from my mother, I’m sure, but when the server asks if we want dessert, I insist that I’m too full.

There’s a hotel room upstairs promising at least a short time worth of privacy and I am not going to let it go to waste. I am at least getting kissed senseless tonight.

As we exit the restaurant, Graham’s hand resting lightly on my lower back, it hits me again how long it’s going to be before I see him again. He hesitates for a moment, checks his watch.

“I should probably get you home.”

“Not yet. I’m not ready to go home yet,” I say.

“We could take a walk,” he suggests, motioning toward the front door. 

I’m not sure if he’s oblivious or scared but I do not want to take a walk. I turn straight for the elevators and glance back at him just in time to see surprise flash on his face. His bewilderment is adorable. 

Once we’re on the elevator and he’s selected his floor, I lean towards him and aim for a tempting tone of voice as I lace our fingers together. “I’m not dressed for that. I’d rather just relax with you upstairs. If that’s okay with your plans.”

His eyes flick down at my short skirt and my boots up to my knees, the stretches of skin between with only a pair of tights to keep them warm. It gets cold at night this high in the mountains.

“I can adjust.” The elevator hums as it lifts. We ride silently up to his floor, and I only release his hand when we reach his room and he needs his hand to unlock the door.

He once again waits for me to enter first and I stand there as he shuts the door, awkwardly wondering how to start. Graham clears his throat and motions towards the couch.

“We could see what’s on,” he suggests and I drop gratefully onto the cushions. “I’ll take your coat.”

“Right,” I say and laugh at myself. “Because I plan on staying for a minute.”

Graham hangs up my leather jacket along with his pristine navy blue dinner coat, and then he returns to sit next to me as I pry off my boots. He shifts and moves as they hit the floor. I’m wound up tight as a clock and tuck my feet under me to recline on the couch and regard him. He leans towards me, pausing just a small distance away and something in me snaps. I launch myself at him and our teeth clash. He grunts in surprise as he tumbles back on the couch but then his hands are on my back.

“Stupid ties,” I mutter as I yank on the thing and fling it across the room. I've got the first two buttons of his shirt opened and my lips on his throat when he seems to realize what I’m doing.

“Wait. Wait, Savannah.”

I groan and push myself off of him. Take a deep breath and center myself. My cheeks flame with embarrassment at how I just threw myself at him. Of course he doesn’t want that.

He caresses my cheek and his fingers trail down my neck, tracing sensuous patterns onto my skin. My eyes jump up to him and he takes a deep breath too. 

“I want to be good at this. I’m a fast learner, but maybe not that fast.” 

“Sorry. We can go slower,” I whisper. Then he leans forward and fuses our lips together again. I bring my hand up to rest on his arm. His tendons flex beneath his shirt. 

We’ve kissed a hundred times by now, maybe more. And still a heat wells up inside me, curling and pulsing hotter with each haggard breath I take. Each shift or brush of lips. He brings his other hand up and holds my face cradled in warm palms as I tilt my head and we deepen the kiss. I push on his shoulders and this time he’s ready for me. He leans back and I climb into his lap, settling with my knees hugging his hips and my hands sliding into his hair.

He moans and caresses down my back. Down to my ass where he hesitates for a moment before grabbing tight and pulling me close. I gasp and he jumps back.

“Was that okay?”

“Yes,” I breathe out the word. “Tell you what. If it’s not okay, I’ll say something. In words. Otherwise, odds are that I like it.”

“I can work with that,” he says with a smile and goes back to kissing me, his broad palms kneading my cheeks. Before long, I’m rocking my hips over him with his hands clenching and controlling the pace. Our lips separate, loud and wet in the quiet of his room.

“Does that feel good?” I whisper and he nods, his cheeks flushed and his eyes glazed over as he stares up at me.

“Really, really good. You?”

I bite my lip and nod, push into him harder so I can feel how turned on he is. He moans kind of loud, his head falling back on the couch for just a second as we keep going with this new, deeper pressure. He hands me control, his hands sliding over my thighs, fingers toying with my skirt hem. I snap open another button on his shirt, then another. It’s enough for me to spread his collar and reveal the dips and ridges of his collarbone and the first swell of pecs.

I lean forward and kiss the skin I now have access to. He whispers something unintelligible. His fingers flex and tease, like he’s holding back as I kiss my way back up to his ear and nibble before whispering to him.

“Go ahead. I want you to.”

I almost cry out with relief when his hands slide up my thighs again, beneath my skirt this time. So slow that chills dance up my spine. There’s still my tights between his skin and mine but with one less layer, his body heat is scorching. His palms return to my butt and pull me closer, faster. 

Tucking my face into his neck, I inhale lungfuls of his scent and clench tight to his shirt. I’m mindless with need and chasing the rainbows dancing behind my eyes.

“Oh god stop,” he says suddenly and his fingers dig into my skin, halting my motions as disappointment and denial rush through me. We sit there as his fingers flex and I can feel the ripple of his throat as he swallows against my forehead.

“Why?” I ask plaintively. It felt so incredibly good. He doesn’t answer and I slowly manage to lift my head to look him in the eyes.

“I…” The word is a desperate squeak and his blue eyes are wild and stormy, pupils wide with fear. I blink in a vain attempt to manage some kind of reasonable thinking. Then something occurs to me.

“Were you about to….?”

His fingers dig in deeper and I’m wondering if that will leave bruises in my skin, but I don’t dislike the bite of pain. Actually it makes me want to move again. Harder this time. To push him straight past reason and perfection so I can see what he looks like when he loses control and lets go.

“Just...give me a minute, please?” He asks. I curl myself back into him, resting my head on his shoulder and sighing when his arms wrap around me. Content. Sure I’d like to go back to what we were doing a second ago, but this is nice too. 

We sit like that for I’m not sure how long when he finally shifts beneath me.

“Better?” I ask and he nods.

“I didn’t want to blow this that soon.” I pause and wonder if he meant that as an innuendo or if he just means that he’s afraid to mess this up or do something wrong. If it’s the first...it’s the dirtiest thing he’s said to me and I find it insanely hot.

“What if I want you to?” I whisper and he goes completely rigid beneath me. Must have meant it the second way.

I lift my head again and we stare at one another. I twist my hips experimentally and watch his eyes roll back in his head for just a second.

“What if I am shamelessly filled with a need to see you. All of you. To touch and taste all over you, too.”

“Savannah. Please. I want—“ his words choke off on a groan and he pushes me away a little then he pulls me close.

“So do I,” I whisper. I slide my hands down his chest and resume unbuttoning his shirt. My busy hands slow down the movement of my hips and Graham takes the reprieve to relearn what he did last night, warm hands under my shirt, fumbling with my bra clasp before it releases. I spread his shirt wide and bite my lip.

Good heavens. He’s gorgeous. A classic marble statue struck with lightning. All heat and life beneath my fingertips as I trace over him. Dips and ridges and so much thick muscle. 

“Terribly timed question,” he says, a little breathless as I lift my gaze to meet his. “You’ve um...drawn nudes, haven’t you? As part of art school?”

“Yes,” I say and cross my arms as he orders his words. It’s a little awkward with his palms cupping my breasts.

“So you’ve seen naked guys before.”

“A few. Does that bother you?”

“I don’t know.”

“Well at least you’re honest about it,” I say with a smile then splay my hands on his abdomen. His muscles twitch beneath my touch and a thrill goes through me as I remember something from February. I hold onto it for later as I push a little more. “Ask me what you really want to know, Graham.”

“I don’t want to sound rude or judgemental.”

“I’ll try not to be offended.” It takes him a few more deep breaths before he asks.

“How far have you gone? With a guy?”

“Well I don’t count the drawing nudes as relationship progress.”

“Why not?”

“Because,” I say with a laugh. “It’s not what you think it is. It’s actually kind of uncomfortable for everybody involved. Most of the time we don’t even know their names. They’ve got twenty people staring at them in their most vulnerable state, trying to hold a pose that isn’t always flattering or comfortable for fifteen minutes while students whine about shading and curvature and how they made a kneecap look like a deflated balloon.”

Graham snorts a little. “So you didn’t find any of the models...attractive?” I shrug and dig my nails into his skin. He bucks beneath me and gasps. “Oh fuck.”

A small thrill goes through me as I realize I’ve found something that really turns him on.

“Not really. It’s very clinical. Might be different if you were one of the models, though.” I do it again just to verify.

“Savannah.”

“I don’t really know what I’m doing either, Graham. Just enough to maybe feel brave and want to try more. With you,” I say and he swallows but opens his eyes to look up at me. I can feel a blush taking over my face. “Can we just…?”

But the mood feels like it’s dying again and I think maybe I should stop sitting on his lap. I’m about to move when he shifts his hands and pulls me down to him, into a kiss that tastes like fear but also courage. The mood is definitely not dead yet, I think as his tongue takes small tastes of my mouth that just make me want more. Our hips start moving again, slow this time. So very slow.

“I’m afraid I’m going to mess this up or be no good at it and you’ll be too nice to tell me,” he whispers between kisses.

“I’m afraid you’ll think less of me if I tell you how far I’ve been,” I whisper back.

“I want you. I don’t care how far you’ve gone. I want  _ you _ and I want you to want me back.”

“Oh! Graham,” I whimper because I’ve succumbed to temptation and am frantically grinding on him again. “I already want you, too.”

“Savannah, I’m—“ he tries to warn me and I keep pushing. Reeling from the heat of his hands on me as I dig my nails in deep and push harder until his astonished cry echoes off the ceiling. His arms fly around me and he holds me close. Close and tight so I can’t wriggle or join him. Can only pepper his neck and shoulder with kisses.

“Dammit,” he mutters eventually and loosens his grip. 

Then he’s pushing me off him and cold rejection fills me as he pauses by his suitcase for a second then disappears into the bathroom. I sit there and hug my knees to my chest. Still burning with need and naively hoping that he’ll come back out and maybe hold me. I can feel the burn of tears in my throat and behind my eyes.

I’m about to let a few sneak past my eyelids when hands scoop beneath me and lift me off the couch. I squeal and my hands fly to his shoulders. It’s only a short walk to the bed, but in those few steps, I register two things.

Graham is carrying me like I weigh nothing. And his face is steely with determination.

He sets me on the bed and then his lips are on mine. A touch forceful, determined. I’m left breathless and reeling when he lifts his head and stares down at me. A fire burns in his eyes.

“Whoever they were and whatever they did to you, I’m going to do it better. I might not know how yet, but I’ll figure it out. I am not going to disappoint you or leave you anything less than satisfied.”

He stands up then and takes a deep breath before yanking his shirt tails from his slacks and finishing what I started. He takes the time to hang his shirt over the back of a chair and I bite my lip to keep from smiling or laughing as he grabs hold of my ankle and tugs. I’m not laughing now, knocked off balance and laid out on my back. The bed dips beside me as he crawls over me and then his mouth is on my neck.

“Tell me if it’s good,” he murmurs.

“Yes,” I gasp as his teeth graze skin and make me shudder.

“Tell me if it’s bad.” His hand skims up my leg and hip, leaving a shivering tingle of need in his wake. I’m cold or I’m hot I don’t know anything but the need for him to do it again or do something else. Up beneath my blouse to cup one breast. He pinches my nipple and releases the tension he built. My entire body jerks and I grab hold of his shoulders, sink my nails into the heat of rock hard muscle. 

“Tell me if it’s mediocre because I won’t settle for anything less than making you as crazy for me as I am for you.” I can’t even vocalize that we’re already there when his hand moves back down my leg. “I didn’t get as far as I have in competition without being able to take some criticism. I can take it here too.”

His touch moves up beneath my skirt. His hand cups over me and I squirm. Heat building between us. Just when I’m ready to explode with demands, he stops and curses.

“Shit I really don’t know what I’m doing, Savannah.”

“You’re doing pretty good so far,” I protest and writhe just to feel some friction.

“I worked myself up and tried to act confident and—“

I twist and knock one arm out from under him. He hits the bed and I press my body back into his. Grab hold of his hand and slide it up to the top of my tights.

“Stop talking so much, Graham,” I say. I wiggle my fingers and get both our hands under my tights. Down further until he bites my shoulder through my blouse. I place my fingers over his and guide him lower. Until the rough pads of his fingers find my folds. I shift my leg to drape it back over his, giving us more room to work. 

He’s silent as I move his fingers over me, showing him where to touch. We fumble a few times and we’re both getting frustrated, breathing out short phrases, until he figures out how to follow the movement of my hand on top of his. 

I bite my lip as we finally seem to fall in step and I’m able to guide his movements, show him how to touch me. Spreading and dipping, teasing. When I push one of his fingers inside me along with one of mine, his hips buck into me and he basically whimpers behind me.

“Are you… enjoying this?” He asks, his voice hoarse and strained and I can’t help the breathless little laugh that I release.

“Yes. Oh god yes,” I moan as I curl our fingers together.

“Show me more,” he says and shifts so he can kiss more of my neck.

“Feel that?” I ask as we find the spongy spot in front. “Oh fuck yes,  _ that _ .”

I groan out the words and feel him smile against my skin. He moves his finger without my guidance and before long, I’m thrusting my hips and lost to the feelings. Inhibition and fear have taken a hike and gotten lost in the woods.

But now I need so much more. So I drag his finger back out and up. Up higher and he curses then starts nipping at the back of my neck as we draw circles on my clit. 

“Yes. Kisses. Don’t stop those,” I manage to say. I roughly shove his hand back down. Two of his fingers without mine this time as I move in sync with his touches and squeeze my eyes shut. Grip his hair and the comforter beneath us as I climb higher and closer. He loses his rhythm for a second and I groan in frustration.

“Sorry. It’s just. My wrist is starting to ache.” He sounds so frustrated too. I brace a foot on the bed and push back so that he’s on his back with me on top of him.

“Use both hands,” I suggest. His left hand comes around and up, beneath my tights. And then oh god he’s got one hand inside me while the other works my clit and his lips press frantic kisses to my shoulder, my back, my neck. But I can’t feel the heat of his lips through my clothes and my tangled bra is pissing me off.

“Wait,” I say and he freezes. I place my hands over his and squeeze. “Don’t move these.”

I’m afraid that if he removes his touch from me, we’ll kill the mood for sure. It’s awkward and ridiculous. I’m laughing by the time I get my blouse and bra off and thrown away from us. Then I take a deep breath as he moves us further up the bed and I settle back against him.

“Oh,” he moans and I echo the sound. It’s like those hints of skin. So simple. My bare back pressed up to his bare chest. And he’s so warm, his heat melting every tense muscle in my body until I’m completely relaxed against him. But it’s also insanely erotic for the forbidden feeling it carries.

“Keep touching me,” I whisper and his hands resume their motions. “Yes, like this.”

With one hand over his, guiding his touches and one hand kneading my breast, I can enjoy the feeling of building pressure. Revel in it pushing against my belly and building in my chest. My lungs burn as I gasp for air and tip my head back over his shoulder. I brace my feet on either side of his legs and thrust madly, chasing the rainbows of heat dancing behind my eyelids. On and on in what feels like an endless quest, but it’s not. I know where the end is and just how close we are.

“Almost. Harder. Graham, please.” 

He heeds my words and then I’m gasping out short words and incoherent sounds. I’m not sure if it’s my fingers or his that hit the right note but then I’m wailing and thrashing over him as brightly colored flames wash over me, leaving me still fevered and twitching but blessedly satisfied in his arms.

It’s only when need passes that embarrassment takes a front row. I’m spread eagle over him with our twined fingers still buried inside me. He’s caressing up and down my thigh with his other hand, over my tights, and dropping soft kisses to my ears, but mortified isn’t a strong enough word to describe how I feel.

“Oh my god,” I groan and he laughs behind me, making me tense up.

“That was the hottest thing I have ever witnessed,” he murmurs. His words soothe me, even though I know he doesn’t have much to compare it to. “Is it true? What they say about girls? Once I get you started, can I make you orgasm again and again almost right away?”

“I don’t know. I’ve never—“ I swear. Loud and undignified as his fingers start moving again and the flames I thought we’d dealt with roar back to life.

“Maybe we should find out then,” he whispers eagerly as I manage to roll off of him but his hands are beneath my skirt almost instantly, tugging down on my tights.

“Graham! I’m not on birth control!” I gasp out desperately. He stops and stares up at me. “I’m sorry.”

“No. It’s...thank you for telling me, I guess.”

“Do you have any condoms?” I ask, hopeful and wary at the same time.

“No,” he admits and I feel a strange mix of relieved and disappointed. “But um...I wasn’t thinking we’d go quite that far right now. I was thinking I’d like to try what we just did again. Just with…”

“Less clothing?” I suggest, flicking my eyes meaningfully at his hands on my tights, already down to my knees as new feelings dance inside me.

“And maybe so I can see your face this time? Is that okay?”

I bend my legs up as an answer, freeing them from the tights. He smiles and tosses them aside before moving over me to gaze down at me, my torso as he traces his fingers over my body. Not completely bare with my skirt and panties still on, but one step at a time.

“You are so beautiful.”

“You look like you’re trying to memorize me,” I say and he smiles.

“I am. Something to keep me warm all those cold nights on the road.”

“So cheesy,” I tease but twist my fingers through his hair to pull him to me for a kiss. 

We stay in his bed much longer than we should. His determination to leave no stone unturned, no avenue untraveled in his quest to make me come is heady and so fucking sexy. I don’t bother telling him he’s done things to me tonight with just his hands that no one else has before because I can’t seem to take a decent breath. 

At one point, I do manage to get his belt and slacks undone and my hands on him, at least. I’m just glad my squeak of surprise when I wrap my fingers around him is lost beneath his moan of pleasure. Not that I’ve had my hands around a lot of dicks, but good lord. Now I’m wondering about logistics and make a mental note to look into lubricant while I stroke him until a flush spreads down his chest and he moans my name as sticky warmth covers my hand.

Eventually, though, he does have to take me home. I resent that I feel like I have a curfew and can’t stay with him tonight. I think I’d like to cuddle with him and wake to his smiles.

When he walks me to the door, it’s late. Later than I’ve ever been out before, almost morning. He kisses me on the porch and promises to call when he makes it back to Wyoming. Reminds me to keep my eyes open for his letters in a few weeks. That gets me smiling and floating on clouds again. I linger and watch him drive away before I shut my front door.

“I really hope you weren’t naive enough to give him everything right before he leaves,” my mother says behind me and cold dread runs through me as I turn around to face her.

“I thought we were past this,” I say.

“I thought so too,” she accuses. “That was before you stayed out until three in the morning without telling me where you were. You’re an adult, not a rebellious teenager, and I'm a little surprised at how reckless you're being." 

Fury and shame and more fury wash through me at her for ruining what I thought was a beautiful night spent with someone who cares about me. For feeding doubts where I don’t want them.

“Not that it’s any of your business, but I wasn’t,” I say and march past her to the batthroom.


	9. The Big Three

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright, timeline for reference. This chapter spans November 2002 to December 2003. Just under four years to get us to Katniss & Peeta's accident. Hopefully it won't take me that long to finish this universe. ;)

_ Dear Savannah, _

_ This is my fourth draft of this letter. All the others got torn to shreds and thrown away because no matter how hard I tried not to, every single one of them wandered into memories of our last date. _

_ I’m giving up on not talking about it. I’m just sorry that I caused you troubles with your mom. I know how important she is to you. The last thing I wanted to do was cause a problem, and I hope you can believe me when I say that I intend to prove her wrong about me. _

_ I hope you don’t regret that night. I can’t. Every time I close my eyes, you’re there. In my thoughts and sometimes it feels like you’re even in my skin. That sounds so cheesy, but you don’t mind cheesy, do you? _

_ The guys here keep teasing me for being distracted and cheerful. But how could I not be when I’ve got seeing you, kissing you to look forward to? Having your picture with me helps with that. _

_ Since we seem to be making a habit of terribly timed or awkward questions… _

_ Tell me about your first kiss. _

_ Yours, _

_ Graham _

I read it for the fifth time, the morning after it arrives, before tacking the postcard up on the wall. He made sure I had his travel schedule before he left the states. Such a small thing, but it’s comforting to know where he is and where he’s headed next. 

I picked up a map of the world and plastered it to my wall, hoping that if I covered my walls with Graham’s postcards, it would keep me from sinking into the quagmire of my mother’s fears. I’m hoping the map serves as visible proof of something I can’t quite put into words just yet.

Plain white sewing pins dot the map, marking each stop he’ll make this year. This one is hopefully the first of many postcards for this ski season and came from a place called Kuusamo in Finland. I use sticky tack so I don’t damage it, hanging it close to its origin on the map, then adding a bit of red string connecting the pin skewering the map to the corner of the postcard. By the end of the season, I'll have a spiderweb of communication on my wall.

It’s fanciful and sappy, but so is keeping his letters in a shoebox tied shut with ribbons. The world is so often cruel and cold. I don’t intend to take any small bit of warmth or giddy, sappy happiness that I can find in it for granted.

I smile at the orange bow and slide the box under my bed. Then I stuff my books in my bag and head out to class.

The days on the calendar tick slowly away. Harper meets me at the door that Friday afternoon with a grin on his face.

“What did you do this time?”

“Spent my paycheck.”

“Okay,” I say hesitating as he backs into the house, drawing me into the kitchen.

“I contributed --”

“We contributed,” Garrett interrupts.

“We contributed to familial wellbeing,” Harper says with a flourish of his hands before stepping back to reveal a cordless phone mounted on the wall.

“What? Why?” I ask. “I thought you two were saving for a car!”

“We are,” Garrett chimes in from the kitchen table. Brianna follows their volley of explanation with turns of her head.

“But this didn’t cost that much.”

“We found it at the Goodwill.”

“Asked them to plug it in so we could test it before we bought it.”

“And it works perfect.”

“So now you can be all smarmy with Teddy Graham and we won’t have to listen to it,” Harper says, following it up with obnoxious kissing noises.

“Okay, never call him that again, Harper-Warper. I know where Mom keeps your naked baby pictures,” I threaten and he hesitates before going back to his obnoxious sounds as he retreats to his room. 

“We wanted to get something you’d like to have. Since you’ve done so much for us,” Garrett says as he stands from the table. I can feel tears building in my eyes and take one step towards him. “Don’t get mushy!”

He runs off swatting the air like he’s being chased by bees as I laugh. 

“Teddy Graham?” I ask after they’ve shut their door and Brianna shrugs.

“Well yeah. Thought that was your pet name for him.”

“I don’t have a pet name for him.”

“You sure? Because you called him that one day.”

“When? I don’t remember this!” I shout and Brianna’s eyes go wide.

“Oh,” she says and then laughs. “Oh no, it was when you had your wisdom teeth out. Maybe you were still high on painkillers.”

I groan and sit across the table from her. “Did the twins hear me call him that?” She thinks for a minute and then shakes her head. 

“No just me. And Graham because you were all snuggled up to him.”

“So they’re just being buttheads and it’s a coincidence.”

“What’s new?” Brianna asks and I laugh. But I can’t be annoyed with either of them. Especially not when I spend Saturday morning in the privacy of my room and tell Graham about my first kiss with no eavesdroppers to make this uncomfortable.

“It was nothing too exciting. He was my date for a high school dance. All I really remember is that it was very wet and I felt more embarrassed than anything else afterwards. But I feel like that’s normal for a lot of people.”

“How old were you?”

“Sixteen.”

“Maybe I should have asked you to tell me about your first decent kiss.”

“Aw, I give him a pass because it was his first kiss too.”

“Just needed practice?”

“Practice does make perfect,” I say and Graham laughs a little. 

“Does it?”

“Certainly seems to.”

All this talk of kissing and first kisses has me thinking about the night on my couch, when my mother interrupted. The question he never answered because he wasn’t ready to at the time and then we got distracted. I still want to know and cautiously ask him now. 

“Did you want to tell me why you waited?”

“That was almost by accident more than choice. It just didn’t seem important. I had a goal and I was so focused on achieving it for as long as I can remember that I woke up one morning and had a spot on an Olympic team...and had maybe been on four dates my entire life.”

“Never thought about kissing one of them?”

“Always felt too awkward and I was afraid of doing it wrong, so I figured it could wait. I had more important things to think about. Then I looked around me and people I had graduated high school with were getting married, having kids. And me, I hadn’t even so much as kissed someone.”

“Life goes at different paces for everyone. You’ve done things those people can only dream of accomplishing in their lifetime.”

“I know that. I just was hoping to speed mine up a little. So I asked out a few people I probably shouldn’t have.”

“So your new goal became to kiss a girl?” I tease.

“Maybe. But I’d waited so long and worked myself up to be almost afraid of it. Stupid simple thing like a first kiss. But I wanted it to be with...the  _ right _ person. Is that pathetic?”

“Not really. How did you know I was the right person?”

“I had a rigorous spreadsheet of qualifications. Congratulations, you met them all.” I burst out laughing at his deadpan tone. “That’s not true. I didn’t actually have a spreadsheet. Just...an idea of what I’d feel like around the right person. With you...it just...felt right.”

“That’s pretty thin reasoning,” I say, a little disappointed.

“I’m not sure how to explain. Okay this is going to sound really weird, but when I’m jumping, there’s this split second right before I go airborne when I know based on everything up to that moment if it’s going to be a great jump or a bad one.”

“Are you comparing kissing me to a ski jump?” I ask with mock offense in my voice.

“Well they’re both exciting, make me feel like I’m flying, and leave me winded with my heart pounding.” And now my heart is pounding a little. I feel winded too and I haven’t even moved on my bed.

“You are deceptively dangerous,” I say, the words breathy and half laughing.

“Says the girl who drives a motorcycle and wears combat boots.” But there’s something deep and sensual in his voice that tells me he means it as a compliment. “You might look small, and I know you’re kind, but I’m pretty sure no one wants to cross you. Ever.”

Most of my days proceed like nothing is different. Classes and work fill much of my time, what with a double major and an almost full time job, my days are packed. There are some days when I fall into bed at night too exhausted to even think. It’s days like that when I’m almost grateful that Graham spends five months of the year out of the country. I’m not sure I have the energy to give to another person.

Then there are the days when Graham’s letters arrive. His questions this time are all more serious. More like the things I imagine you talk about with someone you plan on spending years with. Dreams, future children, family, disappointments, and so much more. I wouldn’t know for sure, though. None of my ex boyfriends stuck around that long. But Graham still asks me about them in his letters. Asks about why things didn’t work out between me and them. Saturday mornings, I wake early to make myself some tea and enjoy the pale early light before he calls.

I tell him about the big three and how each time, I thought I was in love and gave my everything, only to have them give a pittance in return. How I learned that fast and passionate doesn’t mean lasting or good. How each of them left me with a broken heart, even though I’d finally learned by the time I broke up with Heath, not to let anyone treat me that way.

“They sound like a pack of losers,” Graham says about my trio of significant exes, and I laugh at that, the sound and his words breaking the odd tension over the phone line. 

“You would think that. Are you passing judgement on my dating choices?”

“Clearly you’ve upgraded. They’re automatically idiots in my book because they let you go, but I won’t complain too much since I benefit from their lapse in judgement. I, on the other hand, am the model of punctuality, dedication, honesty—“

“Humility,” I say with laughter and sarcasm in my voice.

“It's almost unfair. To them. They set the bar so low, I feel like I overcompensated now.”

“This does not mean you can get away with less effort.”

“Nope. It means I’ve got room for a few screw ups.”

“Nothing too serious,” I warn him. “There are certain screw ups I won’t tolerate.”

“I promise to never forget your birthday, to never so much as flirt with anyone else, to always call if I’m going to be late. I may say something that causes awkward pauses or second hand embarrassment, though. I look weird while dancing, as in really weird so there’s that...or I might forget to say something about your new haircut.”

I’m laughing at his earnestness, but the truth is, I like hearing these things from him. As though we’re building something even when we’re thousands of miles apart. Or at least building the foundations of something.

Graham even reciprocates with a few stories of his not so great dates. 

“What made you agree to a blind date with Penelope’s cousin if your date with her went so badly?”

“I thought maybe a blind date in another city was my only real chance. Someone who didn’t already know me or my family, who hadn’t already formed this idea of who I was in their head. I know what they say about me. Penelope, Michael, all the others I went to school with. Rigid, arrogant, stuck up, stuffy. I’m supposed to be the example. The one with all the answers and everything figured out, under control. Not just with my brothers either. Mom always expected me to act a certain way in front of people and never forget my name or where I came from. Who my mother and my grandfather were.”

“Oh Graham.” It sounds so lonely.

“But when it came to dating, I had no idea what I was doing. I thought it’d be easy. If I could ski fifteen kilometers like its walking up the stairs then I could handle a date with a girl. I screwed it up. Asked another. Screwed that one up too. Over and over again with no idea what I was doing wrong. Then Penelope suggested maybe I should date outside my tiny little world and said she knew just the sort of person I needed to date, and I agreed. I didn’t actually think she’d follow through on it. I’m really glad she did.”

“So am I.”

I end that phone call with a warmth in my chest, hugging myself and refusing to so much as move for at least ten minutes after we hang up. 

Brianna comes home from her community college classes one night, gushing about this boy she met. I listen and try to calm her just a little. I don’t want to sound like my mother, but how do you caution a happy eighteen year old against falling too fast without sounding like a downer or tyrant or a hypocrite? Especially when I don’t know if Mom herself is crushing Brianna’s hopes.

When they arrive, Graham’s letters and calls make those particular days special in a strange way. Strange because they’re bright spots in my routine, yet comforting in their familiarity to last season. And the longer his season progresses, the more I believe we could manage every season in the future like this. At least until I graduate. Then I don’t know what will happen. I just know that every time I open the mailbox and find an old style envelope with his writing on the front, my heart skips and I am foolishly happy. Every Saturday when I answer the phone, it’s with a smile on my face.

He even starts sending an e-mail here and there to my school account, the only one I have. They’re short messages but usually they contain a picture or two. Of him wherever he is, the results board if he did really well, a particularly delicious meal deemed “photo worthy,” or the landscapes. I wind up asking Stefan to help me get them printed and build a gallery on my wall.

“We should send some back,” Stefan suggests one day. Mine aren’t nearly as exciting and it’s a little trickier for me since I don’t own a digital camera, but Graham seems to appreciate everything I send.

When Graham is stateside, he calls more often. I start looking into options for my cell phone plan so he can call more when he’s away, cringing at the cost of receiving international calls. Maybe not yet. 

Winter turns to spring and then to summer.

Brianna comes home crying about the boy she’d been seeing at school. He’s moving to another state, transferring to a university in Idaho, and he decided that they couldn’t stay together.

“You and Graham manage!” She cries into my shoulder, ignoring the rum raisin ice cream I scrounged up to help console her. I’m not sure what to say to that. Graham and I have been together almost two years and yet I still feel like we’re new, since we’re so often apart. But my sister is more important than figuring out my relationship right now.

“And that’s exactly the point,” I say vehemently, all while wondering if she’ll tell me what this boy’s car looks like so I can slash his tires later. “Look at me, Brianna.”

She looks up at me with tear stained cheeks, chapped lips, and the pain of lost first love in her eyes.

“You deserve someone who loves you enough to make it work, even across a distance. It’s not easy, but you deserve that kind of love.”

She only cries louder that she wanted that with Tyler, and that’s when I point to the ice cream again. I hold her while she eats from the tub.

I manage a few days visiting Graham in Wyoming over the summer, but I find myself wishing we were in Utah. His mother barely tolerates me, although Eirik and Graham’s brothers make me feel welcome. Then there’s the problem of where to stay. I am getting more and more annoyed with Penelope.

“I just don’t see what you do,” she insists late one night as we talk. “He’s still the same guy.”

“He acts differently in front of most people than he does with me.”

“Uh that’s not a good thing, Sav.”

“Depends on his reasons,” I argue. “He’s expected to be a certain way. It’s a little bit of family pressure and lot of defense mechanisms. When he acts like that, he might come across as a little arrogant and stuffy, but he’s not really like that at all.”

“Well he hardly heard a word I said on  _ our _ date. I’m cute and funny! And he barely cracked a smile the whole time. Then when I told him he was hot, but needed to talk less about skiing, he basically freaked out and clammed up. Guy can’t take constructive criticism at all.”

I don’t know how to explain to her how warm, kind, and understanding he is. How he may make a snap judgement but when he stops and thinks, he sees more than others think he does, maybe because he’s quiet enough to listen. Or how he’s so hyper aware of the image he’s projecting that when he does try to open up or be friendly, it often comes out awkward, overbearing, and arrogant.

“Has he kissed you yet?” she asks.

“Yes,” I whisper stupidly, without thinking it through.

“Oh! Share!” Penelope says and for some reason I think about her and Graham out to dinner and what might’ve happened if things had gone differently for them. It’s petty and spiteful, but I say it anyways because I’m really glad it was me and not her.

“He’s a  _ really _ good kisser.”

“Seriously? Like how good?”

“If they gave out Olympic medals for it, I’d give him gold.”

“No way!” Penelope tries to get more out of me, but I feign exhaustion and give half answers until she leaves me alone.

I refuse to explain to her how freaking hot things between us can be, even though it would probably shut her up. I refuse to give her any more ammunition against him in the form of even a hint of his bumbling first attempts.

I could tell her how he makes me feel like I’m significant when he touches me. Maybe because I’m his first or maybe because he seems convinced I’ll be his last. Whatever it is, he’s reverent and sweet but with that determination to see me satisfied adding an unbelievable level of smoking hotness to his touches, even when it takes a few tries to get it right. Maybe he’s not an experienced lover, but he’s determined to learn, to be the best one I’ve ever had or will have. I could tell her how he can absolutely take constructive criticism, because I have a sneaking suspicion hers was given almost maliciously whereas I try to deliver mine with kindness. 

But I refuse to tell Penelope any of that. That’s just for me to know about.

I roll over to hide my blush as I feign sleep, because just thinking about it brings up vivid remembrances of his hands and lips on me the last time we managed a few minutes alone in his bedroom. Door locked and faces turned into each other to muffle any desperate noises we made.

I’m hanging by a thin thread here, wanting to push further and afraid to do so. We’ve taken a few small steps further than we did that night in his hotel, but it feels so good when I’m with him that I doubt the final step can actually live up to the build. We’re flirting with the line of places neither of us have gone before. I’m afraid of disappointment and I’m afraid of disappointing him.

Luckily, most of the time I’m in Wyoming, Penelope is more interested in telling me about her and Michael, who wound up joining the navy and will be leaving for basic training in the fall.

As much as I wish I could stretch my scattered time during the summer with Graham, to make it last year round, fall eventually rolls around again. When Graham picks me up for our last date before his season starts, he’s smiling and wearing a tie, his hands hidden behind his back and I tilt my head, wondering what’s with the excited gleam in his eyes.

“For you,” he says, bringing one hand around to present me with a bouquet of...paint brushes. Tied together with a yellow satin ribbon. I’m not sure what to call the sound I make, but it’s not exactly a laugh. I haven’t told him about my shoe boxes but I know what ribbon will be on the one for this season. “Wait…”

I cross my arms and wait as he brings his other hand around, holding a large, plain glass vase with five tubes of paint in it. Cyan, magenta, yellow, white, and black. He lifts his eyebrows and gives me an expectant look before plunking the paintbrushes inside the vase. Now I am laughing as I accept the gift and stand on my toes to kiss his cheek.

“They’re gorgeous. I love them and don’t even have to go put them in water.” But I do take a deep sniff of the bristles, which makes him smile wider.

Our date is nothing fancy this time, despite the tie he’s wearing. We take a drive through the mountains, enjoying the cool air and the vibrant colors of red rock and autumn yellows. We find a small shop and sip hot chocolate, sample some fudge and rate each flavor before he buys me a slab of the chocolate and peanut butter to share with Brianna and the twins later. 

Eventually we wander back to his hotel room. I’m keyed up and nervous, wondering if this is when we take that last leap. But as we stretch out on the sofa with me laying out on top of him, his hands rubbing warmth into my back, I wind up falling asleep. 

I drift through dozens of happy, dreamy moments and when I finally open my eyes and find him still awake, hand still caressing over my back, eyes focused on the quiet TV across the room, I smile and stretch, content.

“Hey you,” I whisper to get his attention.

He stiffens for a second and swings his gaze around to stare at me. There’s something intent in his blue eyes and I’m still struggling the rest of the way out of my happy, dreamy haze when he smiles brightly and whispers back.

“I love you, too.”

Oh no, I think as he slides me up his body to bring our lips together in a soft kiss. That’s not what I said. I’m swept away in the kiss so fast that I don’t have time to think or correct him. And then I don’t want to. 

Graham loves me? I’m soaring on the thought and shackled by the truth. My half asleep body responds to him, kissing him back and sliding my hands under his shirt to feel the heat of his skin and the pounding of his heart.

And when he drops me off at my house much later, his lips warm and gentle on mine, I still don’t know what to do or say. He lifts his head, our breaths clouds of steam in the cold night as he smiles, joy plain in his face and shining in his eyes.

“I’m really gonna miss you, Savannah.”

“I’ll miss you, too,” I manage to say, and somehow that’s easier than the other one.

“I’ll write.”

“You better,” I return and he grins as he walks backwards down the walk and I slide inside my house.

As promised, the letters and phone calls and e-mails arrive. More confidence and intimacy in the words than before.

I paint, and I draw. For the first time in awhile, inspiration seems to lurk around every corner. I work. Go to class. Eat lunches with Stefan and discover that he and Graham have been keeping in touch as well, talking nerdy AV and computer things since Graham has started dabbling in building video and photo compilations, a sort of scrapbook of his and his brothers’ and even Katniss’ competitions. 

Some nights, I lay awake and I doubt myself, staring at the canvases now on my walls in place of the map tracking Graham. He’s stopped sending postcards with his letters now, instead e-mailing me pictures about twice a week.

Guilt swamps over the doubts because he signs everything he sends me  _ Love, Graham. _ Did I mislead him or lie to him? What harm have I done letting him think I said “I love you” that night? I don’t want to break his heart and I nearly crumble under the weight of knowing I’m the first girl he’s said that to and I didn’t even say what he thinks I did. The longer I hold my secret, the worse I feel about it.

I’m in the strangest spot, the library computer labs, registering for spring semester when the realization hits me.

It doesn’t matter. Because I feel the same way. I close my eyes and whisper it to myself. 

“I am in love with Graham.” 

The words shatter whatever shackles I’d imagined around my heart before and the weight I’ve been carrying disintegrates. I almost laugh out loud as I whisper it again with more confidence.

“I’m in love with Graham.”

“Well geez, Sav, I coulda told you that,” Stefan says and I jump as he sits next to me. “What do you think of my new glasses? Mom says they make my face look thin.”

“I think they make your face look smart,” I tell him and he strikes a pose for me. “How did you…?” I can’t even finish the question and Stefan shrugs.

“You’ve been...more you lately. Since last February really. Does that make sense?” I shrug and he does too. He signs in to his computer and we banter about the classes we’ll be taking, finally both sending our new schedules to the lab’s printers.

“So when are you gonna tell him?” Stefan asks as we retrieve our printouts.

“Soon. Very soon,” I say, thinking of Graham’s last letter and already planning my answer to him.

_ Dear Savannah, _

_ The closer I get to coming home for the mid-season break, the harder it is to concentrate. There are days when you’re all I can think of. You don’t have to answer this right away, but would you want to come up to Wyoming sometime during the break? Maybe I could teach you how to ski. I’m not sure if I can get away to visit you in Salt Lake since I’m already away from here so much, but I don’t want to go another three months without seeing you if I don’t have to. I’ll understand if you can’t or don’t want to. _

_ Love, _

_ Graham _

 


	10. The Even Pull

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Timeline reminders! This chapter takes place December 2003. If you’re trying to line this up with the events of "Outside Chance," this is roughly a year before the flashback in chapter 4. Ages of pertinent characters:
> 
> Savannah 22 (As of Aug 2003)  
> Graham 21 (about to turn 22 in Jan 2004)  
> Ryen 14 (about to turn 15 in Feb 2004)  
> Peeta 11 (about to turn 12 in Mar 2004)  
> Katniss 11 (about to turn 12 in May 2004)  
> Primrose 7 (will turn 8 in June 2004)

**_December 2003_ **

The first thing I do when I step into the cabin is turn up the heater and start the gas fireplace. It’s small and cozy, but perfect. Graham sets my bags down near the bedroom door as I check out the kitchen.

“I’m sorry we couldn’t get you into one of the guest cabins,” he says, looking chagrined.

“Are you kidding? This is perfect,” I tell him and his shoulders drop at least an inch as he relaxes. 

I was almost relieved when Penelope told me she wouldn’t be in Wyoming for Christmas. She’s going to Costa Rica with her parents on a holiday vacation. Their neighbor had already agreed to house sit, although Penny offered to talk her parents into letting me do it instead. Thankfully, Graham came up with an alternate solution. One of the unoccupied, fully furnished employee cabins on the grounds of Skadi. This one is setup for a single dweller or a couple with no children.

As soon as I had the thought that it might be like having my own place for the first time in my life, I jumped at that idea. There was a small nagging suspicion that I was being banished as far from the lodge as possible instead of welcomed into his home, but I brushed that off as paranoid nonsense.

Besides, I’d much rather have the privacy of this cabin than be staying in the owner’s suit with Graham’s entire family. Especially with the tight thread of tension strung up between us right now. The tension that’s been hovering in the air ever since I set foot in the lobby.

When we met up there earlier, we moved towards each other and then awkwardly turned our heads at the last second as we embraced. We came so close to kissing each other in the middle of the crowded space, and all I’ve been thinking about since, is actually kissing him.

Now he shuffles his feet as the cabin gradually warms up. I twist my fingers together, wondering if maybe I read the tension all wrong. Maybe he took one look at me and realized what a mistake this is. Maybe he regrets all of it. What are the chances he met someone while he was in Europe? Finally, I can’t take the doubts and the questions anymore. 

He grunts as I throw my arms around his neck, but his lips meet mine with equal fervor. His hands grab fistfuls of my coat and pull me tight against his body. We’re rushed and sloppy and tumble into the kitchen table.

“Oh thank god,” he says as we fling aside coats and hats and paw at one another. I laugh and he smiles at me. “For a moment there, I thought maybe…”

“No,” I say as I pull him with me towards the bedroom. We trip over ourselves trying to kiss and move through the cabin at the same time.

“Missed you.”

“Missed you, too,” I say as I shove his sweater up over his head.

“I’m supposed to go back to the lodge as soon as you’re settled.”

“I have a lot of complaints about this cabin before I can get settled,” I say and he laughs as we collide and fall back onto the bed.

“Like what?” he murmurs to my neck before he kisses me there and oh I thought I was needy before. Something about his lips on my neck, on the vulnerable skin there, makes me wild and ravenous.

“Uh... I forgot?”

He laughs and keeps kissing me. Back up to my mouth and any complaints I might have fabricated to keep him here longer are lost as we kiss and roll over the bed, hands wildly roaming over each other until it’s warm enough for me to complain about my own sweater. Graham tears the thing from my body and pulls down on the loose shirt I have on beneath, his mouth grazing over the swell of my breast.

“I won’t leave you until you are completely satisfied with your accommodations,” he says right before he tugs down my bra cup and I arch into the heat of his mouth on me. I twist and pull on his hair. He shifts so that the weight of his hips presses me down into the bed and I wrap my legs around him. Our boots smack together and I let my eyes drift closed to enjoy the feelings about to boil over inside me.

His phone rings, startling us both. Graham lifts his head and stares towards the sound, back in the main room of the cabin. I can tell that he’s torn and groan, denial and disappointment a bitter taste in my mouth.

“Go answer it. It’s fine,” I say and give him a slight shove as I release the hold my legs have on him.

He mutters an apology and has to adjust himself in his pants as he retraces our steps to retrieve his phone from his coat pocket.

I listen to the conversation and force my breathing to slow down, unsurprised when Graham hangs up and tells me he needs to head back to the lobby, although I’ll admit I’m a little annoyed with the intrusion. He bends down to kiss me and promises to call so we can figure out dinner. I want to beg him to stay. I briefly consider tearing his pants off and diving into a blow job to keep him here, but decide against it, knowing that Graham’s family means so much to him. I can’t be the thing that tears him away from them. I’ll just have to find a way to deal with his mother and our differences. Besides, it’s not like mine is much better. And I have an entire week here to spend with Graham.

Once I’m alone, I unpack and then dress warm, intending to take a walk and see Skadi in her winter glory. I was a little distracted on our way here from the lobby and didn’t really notice the scenery. As I’m leaving my cabin, I almost collide with a familiar figure.

“Oh, sorry!” Katniss shouts and then stops as she see who it is. “Oh, you’re back.”

“I am. For a week this time,” I say and point towards the skis and poles she’s toting. “Graham’s supposed to teach me how to ski. I’ve never done it before.”

“Really? Are you meeting him at the lodge?” 

“No, he had something work related to deal with.” She hums and shifts on her feet, considers me for a moment and then grabs my hand. 

“Okay you can’t be Graham’s girlfriend and  _ not  _ know how to ski. At least on the bunny slopes. Come with me.”

“Where are we going?” I ask.

“To get you some skis and to get Peeta. He should be almost done in The Locker now and we’re supposed to go skiing anyways. If Graham’s busy, then we can teach you! Or at least start on the basics. We’ve been helping my dad teach skiing lessons for years.” It’s the most I’ve ever heard her say in one breath.

“That’s very nice of you but I don’t want to cut into your and Peeta’s time together.” 

“You won’t be. And we’re much better teachers than Graham. He’s a bit of a perfectionist,” Katniss says with a roll of her eyes. I have to bite back a chuckle at her confidence. I think to argue with her that Graham said he wanted to teach me, but then it occurs to me that a little head start so I don’t look like a complete idiot in front of Graham won’t hurt.

She leads me through the lobby, back into areas marked for employees. “Um,” I pause to show her and she shrugs.

“You’re with me. And you’re staying in an employee cabin. And you’re Graham’s girlfriend. No one’s going to care about you being back here.” We wind through hallways and I slow my feet as we walk down one that’s a giant collage of pictures. “Oh this is The Wall,” Katniss explains and then pauses with me so I can look.

“It’s like a giant scrapbook.”

“Yep,” she says and then points to a picture of Graham crossing a finish line somewhere. I smile and then peruse a few more.

“Where are you?” I ask and she shows me one of her with her family all on horseback. Another of just her, shooting a rifle. One of her with Peeta, sitting in the snow and drinking from mugs. Skis in the snow next to her and a snowboard still attached to his feet.

“Peeta’s more into snowboarding now, but he’s still a great skier and a really patient teacher.”

“When did you all start skiing?” I ask as I find a picture of a very young looking Katniss and Peeta on skis with her father. They can’t be more than five in this picture.

“Um...I don’t know. I don’t remember  _ not _ skiing.”

“Maybe it’s too late for me to learn,” I say quietly.

“It’s never too late to learn. We’ve got beginner classes for all ages here,” Katniss says. “Come on. We better get moving if we’re going to have any light left.”

I follow her a little further down the hall and through a door into what amounts to a workshop. Skis and boots laid out for repairs, cleaning, maintenance.

“Hey, Peeta!” Katniss says and leans across the table where he’s rubbing something into a pair of skis.

“Hey!” he answers with a bright smile and removes the headphones he had on, leaving them looped over the back of his neck.

“Can you hook up my friend with some gear? We have a private beginners ski lesson to teach,” she waves towards me and Peeta nods.

“Hey Savannah. Downhill skis or cross country skis?” he asks me.

“There’s a difference?”

“Maybe we should start her on a board,” Peeta suggests and Katniss shakes her head.

“You just want another boarder in the family.”

“Well yeah,” he says with a shrug then sets aside the ski he was working on to walk around the table and examine me. “So with downhill, your feet will be attached to the ski from toe to heel. Cross country, it’s only your toe, so the boots are different. The skis are different because you need more ability to steer with downhill since you’re going faster.”

“Which one am I less likely to wind up in the emergency room for?” I ask and Katniss grins.

“Cross country,” Peeta says. “But where’s the fun in that?”

“We’ll work her up to downhill,” Katniss assures Peeta with a playful shove as he heads off between the shelves.

“Shoe size?”

“Six and a half,” I tell him. They spend the next twenty minutes fitting me with a pair of boots and skis, digging up a set of snow pants that will fit me. While Peeta makes sure the skis are waxed and ready to go, Katniss explains the motions to me and has me go through a few stationary exercises to get the idea before they put me on skis.

We make it outside and they help me with putting on the skis, their own setup taking mere seconds.

“Alright, now watch Katniss,” Peeta says and she glides off down a wide trail for a few steps. Or...strokes?

“Now you try,” Katniss says as she loops around to ski back towards us. “Follow the leader.”

Katniss takes off again and I follow with Peeta right behind me, calling out corrections and encouragement. I’m holding my arms too close to my body. Leaning  with my torso too much, which I can tell I’m doing because I almost lose my balance once or twice.

“Break!” Peeta calls out and Katniss stops.

“Ah!” I shout and Peeta laughs as he has to catch up and stop me before I collide with Katniss. We take a short break to recap what I’ve learned and for Peeta to assess how I’m doing. Katniss demonstrates a few stopping techniques as well and has me practice them.

“How do your arms feel?” Peeta asks “Tired? Are you winded?”

“A little,” I admit. “It’s a lot of work.”

“We’ll rest for a few more minutes and then keep going,” Katniss says.

They really are good teachers. Patient and a little silly. As the motions become more ingrained in my head, and Peeta’s tips turn to excited praise, I’m able to look around a bit. The cold gray sky appears low with the clouds almost pressing down on the earth. Scattered flakes slowly drifting on the wind. Not many flakes, just enough to dot the air. So slow that they almost seem to hover. The wind through the trees a low moaning whistle. Snow covering everything and icicles bending the more delicate plants towards the earth.

When I’m starting to feel a little worn out, they turn us back around without complaint. It’s only when we’re within sight of the lodge that it occurs to me maybe I should have waited for Graham. Maybe he really wanted to teach me and this little lesson with Peeta and Katniss will upset him.

They help me back out of my skis and chat about maybe getting something warm to drink inside. I could go for a coffee or hot chocolate right now. 

Before we can reach the doors to the lodge, a snowball smacks Peeta right in the back of his head.

“Bullseye!”

“In the back?” Katniss shouts and drops her skis to scoop up some snow. “Ryen, you jerk!”

She launches her hastily formed snowball at Ryen and it disintegrates, barely touching him as he laughs and makes a face at them. Skis are dropped to the ground, forgotten as snowballs fly through the air. 

I can’t help but laugh as I watch them, Peeta packing tight snowballs and handing them to Katniss to launch at Ryen with surprising accuracy. They make quite the team, their rapid fire quickly overwhelming Ryen.

“Cease fire!” he yells after one hits him high on the shoulder after he turns to keep it from hitting him in the chest.

“I’m not falling for that again!” Katniss yells and throws another one. Ryen ducks and slings one right back. It misses Katniss, but I’m not fast enough. It smacks me right in the chest. The three of them fall silent.

I narrow my eyes at Ryen and calmly set aside my skis, kneeling to gather up some snow.

“Uh oh,” Ryen says as I stand, packing the snow tight. He drops the loosely gathered snow he was packing into a snowball.

“You’re in for it now,” Peeta says.

Ryen’s eyes are focused behind me and he points at Peeta. “He started it.”

“Sure he did,” Graham says behind me and I turn, blushing a little at being caught. He’s been stuck inside working and here I am taking a skiing lesson with his brother when Graham wanted to teach me. And now we’re in the middle of a snowball fight.

“Why you always think I started the trouble?” Ryen asks indignantly.

“Because you usually do,” Graham says as he moves to stand beside me. He looks so serious and strict. Maybe it’s the cold air muddling my thoughts. Maybe it’s the joy and laughter of his younger siblings and their friend infecting me. Maybe I’m a little annoyed still that on my first day here, I’ve barely gotten a chance to see him. But instead of launching the snowball at Ryen, I smack it straight onto Graham’s chest.

Graham freezes and looks down at the snow falling down the front of his coat, my hand splayed over his chest, bits of snow clinging to my glove. Katniss snorts. I cringe as Graham turns to stare at me.

“I want her on my team!” Ryen shouts.

Chaos erupts as Katniss resumes launching snowballs at Ryen. Graham turns on me and I squeal as I’m lifted into the air. 

“I don’t think so, Pain! This one’s mine!” Graham shouts at Ryen as he dodges snowballs and carries me to a nearby copse of trees where we take shelter. 

Ryen can’t seem to decide who he’d rather pummel with his snowballs. His throws wildly, missing both Katniss and Peeta, and me and Graham. We poke our heads out to throw our own snowy missiles and add to the confusion. I manage to get Peeta once and have to duck behind the tree to avoid getting one in the face from Katniss in retaliation.

“Unfair advantage!” Ryen yells as three snowballs at once hit him. There’s a short pause in the throwing and he brushes snow from his coat. “Four against one is not fair.”

Katniss throws one at us blindly and it misses. “How’s that for fairness?”

Graham slings one at Ryen, breaking the temporary cease fire. We move from tree to tree, changing our hiding place and the angle the others have to throw at to get us. They quickly lose interest in us, though. We’ve made ourselves difficult targets.

Still, I’m smiling and laughing as we crouch behind a tree. The light is fading quickly now and guests laugh as they walk past the ongoing battle. Then snow smashes on my neck, getting under my scarf as I gasp at the cold and stare at Graham’s smug smile. I’m about to retaliate when he bends his head over mine, capturing my lips is a swift kiss. I shiver, shaking from head to toe as he lifts his head. His eyes are bright and his cheeks flushed. Completely care free for just a few minutes.

I move closer and set my gloved hands on his cheeks, ignoring the laughter and shouting nearby, the cold snow melting inside my scarf as I whisper for just him to hear.

“I love you, Graham.”

His lips part in a smile and he leans towards me, returning the words to me right before he kisses me again. We lose our balance and fall over, laughing in the snow and then covering our heads as Ryen and Katniss launch a few snowballs at us, caught in our exposed and vulnerable position.

“Ryen! Peeta!” Mrs. Mellark calls out, ending the laughter.

“Graham too!” Ryen protests, pointing at us as Graham helps me stand up and we both brush snow from our clothes.

His mother squints at us and I furiously try to brush the snow off Graham’s back that he can’t reach as he clears his throat.

“Inside for dinner,” Mrs. Mellark says. Graham takes my hand in his and won’t let go, silently letting me know that I’m invited and wanted.

“You’re not upset that Peeta and Katniss showed me a few skiing basics, are you?” I ask him as he helps me return the lodge’s ski equipment before heading upstairs.

“Maybe a little, but only because I wish it could have been me,” he says. “You’re not upset I couldn’t spend the day with you, are you?”

“Maybe a little,” I admit and he looks worried for a second before I lace my fingers with his. “But it’s only the first day.”

It winds up just me and the three Mellark brothers at the table. Katniss returned to her home to eat with her family. Mr. Mellark is busy with the dinner rush in the restaurant, a normal occurrence I’ve come to learn. Mrs. Mellark starts with us, but eats within minutes and disappears with a reminder for the boys to clean up after themselves.

Without their parents at the table, it becomes clear how this family operates. Graham as the adult, walking the line between reminding his brothers of their manners and allowing them to enjoy themselves. Near the end of the meal, Eirik joins us, apologizing for being late and sighing happily as he digs into his meal while Ryen regales him with a dramatized version of our snowball fight.

When the dishes are dealt with and the younger boys split off to relax for the rest of the evening, Graham offers to walk me back to my cabin. We’re quiet, the sound of snow crunching beneath our boots the only real sound once we’ve put some distance between us and the lodge. I unlock my door and the lamp I left on sends a shaft of warm light spilling across the snow and Graham’s face.

“Come inside?” I ask hopefully. He joins me and we shut out the world and all the responsibilities. I’ve barely locked the door before he cups my face in his hands and kisses me. I squeak in surprise, but recover quickly, gripping his coat and arching into his body. Heat flares inside me, rises up as we kiss.

“Savannah,” he whispers as his lips trail over my cheek to my ear. I toss aside both our hats and then my gloves. His follow and he once more cups my face in his warm palms. “We should...talk.”

“That sounds ominous,” I say and he shakes his head.

“No, not that kind of talk. I mean about us.” I can feel the skepticism on my face and he sighs. “I want...there are things I want with you, but I -- we should talk before we -- wow I’m messing this up.”

I laugh and caress his cheek. “It’s okay, Graham. It’s me,” I whisper. “And if it helps, I think I want the same thing.”

“You think?”

I shake my head and try to order my words. Take a deep breath and lay it out for him. “I want us to have sex. You and me. But I’ve never done that with anyone before and...”

“You haven’t?” he asks and I look away for a second, a little embarrassed that he assumed that I had and upset at myself for being embarrassed about it.

“No. I haven’t.” The words seem to hang in the air between us and then his thumbs caress over my jawline.

“And you want it to be with me?”

“Of course I do,” I say, the ease of the words surprising even me a little, but they’re true. The certainty gives me the courage to look up at him again, to meet the intense questions in his eyes. Just like he avoided answering about his first kiss the first time I asked, I once avoided answering this question.

Lifting my hands, I curl my fingers around his and step back. Back and back, leading him towards the sofa. I ask him to sit and he does, shedding his coat and boots while I start the fireplace back up and then remove my own coat. Removing my boots as I sit next to him on the couch gives me more time, but eventually I face him.

“Remember when I said we had a few more things to try before I could say that as far as I’ve gone with you is the furthest I’ve been?” He nods and I take a deep breath, splay my hands on his chest and move to straddle him. Maybe showing him will be the easiest way, and he seems open to the idea as I kiss him again.

His hands rest lightly on my hips as I start to rock gently at first, then deeper as I feel him harden beneath me. When he groans into my mouth and his fingers clench, I sit up and tug on his sweater.

“May I?” Graham nods and lifts his arms to help me. I drop the sweater behind the couch and kiss up and down his neck, inhaling his scent, which became one of my favorites somewhere along the way. Enjoying the lift of his hips into me, the slide of his palms over my back and my hips. The clench and pull of his fingers on my ass. He pushes down, letting me know he wants more and I give him a few hard rolls of my hips, moving to kiss him on the mouth. My head spins, an ache spreading through me. A need. 

I pull back and he leans towards me, chasing me for more kisses. He’s been so focused on learning how to take care of me, and now is my chance to reciprocate. I lift my hand between us and he opens his eyes when his lips meet my fingers.

“Tell me if you don’t like something I do, alright?” I whisper. He blinks, brow furrowing a little, but then he nods.

“Okay.”

I slide off his lap, onto the floor as I push his knees wide and kneel between them. Keeping my eyes focused on my task as I unbuckle his belt and push his shirt up, I still notice him gripping the edge of the couch in my periphery. His knuckles turning white as I rise up just enough to kiss across his belly, along the waist of his pants. His breaths come fast and hard above me as I slowly unzip his jeans and lower my head to kiss him through fabric. A small wet spot of precum and the lurch of his cock encourage me, and I risk a glance up at him. His pupils are wide, fat black pools of want as he stares at me, mouth gaping and chest heaving.

“May I?” I ask again and Graham makes a strangled noise in his throat but nods frantically. 

I smile and pull his shorts down enough to free his cock. I can’t watch him watching me as I do this, though, instead watching my own hand as I stroke him. The stretch and pull of his skin. 

When I flick my tongue over his head, he groans. I lick up his shaft and he curses, making me smile and eager to please. I rise onto my knees and slide my lips down, encasing part of him in my mouth. His fingers shove through my hair, but he doesn’t push me, doesn’t force anything. I flick my gaze up and watch as his head falls back on the couch, eyes shut and mouth open in pleasure. 

It’s been a long time since I’ve done this, but luckily the recipient is new to the sensations. Each twitch of his knees or soft cry guides me. Each moan and tug on my hair a small triumph. He stutters out my name and flexes his fingers on my scalp as I slide my lips down to take him as deep as I can. With my hand, I can cover all of him at least and set to work pleasing him.

His fingers squeeze tighter as I move faster and suck harder. Soft pops from the fire and his moans fill the cabin. Then with no warning, his cum fills my mouth. I sputter and cough. Eyes watering and nose burning as I choke a little and sit back.

Graham curses and releases my head, only to grasp my arms and gently pull me up onto the couch next to him. 

“Savannah! Are you okay?” he asks and I shake my head. He leaves me for a second and returns with a handful of tissues. I wipe my mouth and pantomime that I need something to drink. I’m handed a glass of water and manage to look at him, his cheeks flushed and his eyes concerned.

While I work to get myself under control, Graham slowly draws further inside himself, fixing his pants. 

“I’m sorry. Oh god that was dumb. I should have known better,” he says and leans forward with his hands in his hair, elbows on his knees.

“Maybe a courtesy warning next time,” I suggest.

I set aside my glass and wriggle between his arms until I’m sitting in his lap again, forcing him to release his own hair. I hold his face in my hands and kiss him. He startles at first, but then relaxes into it, holding me as though I’m something precious.

When our lips finally part with a small smack, I smile at him for a second and then drop my gaze, slide my hands to rest on his shoulders. “Anything new we try from here on is new to us both.”

The backs of his fingers brush over my cheek, drawing my gaze back to his. I expect judgment and find wonder in his gaze. But the continued silence from him worries me.

“Other than me choking at the end, was it good?” I ask and bite my lip. He huffs out a soft laugh and kisses me.

“Incredibly good,” he murmurs, resting his forehead on mine for a second before he jerks back. “Wait so no one’s ever...I mean I can love you with my mouth, too.”

For some reason, the expression he uses makes me smile and a little giddy. “Yes.”

“And no one’s ever done that for you?” He looks almost appalled and I shrug.

“Heath took one lick and told me I tasted terrible so he wasn’t going to.”

Now Graham looks appalled  _ and  _ furious. “What a selfish asshole.”

“Well it’s not as easy to make a girl orgasm like that the way it is with a guy,” I try to rationalize, but Graham shakes his head.

“Doesn’t mean he shouldn’t have at least tried.”

“Are you seriously arguing that my ex should have given me oral?” I ask. It’s such an odd conversation for us to be having, but Graham seems perfectly at ease with it so I don’t question.

“Yes,” he says emphatically. “If you gave, then so should he.”

With that, Graham wraps his arms around me and stands. The sudden motion pulls a yelp out of my throat. He carries me towards the bedroom and drops me on the bed, following me and covering my body with his, my mouth with his. And somehow, I know what we’re doing next before he even says it.

“Any objections to trying something new?” I shake my head as his hands work the fastenings of my jeans. Then we’re both working to shed the garment along with my panties. “Good. Because I feel like learning a new way to make you come.”

He settles between my thighs and seems almost hesitant. All bravado gone in an instant.

“It’s okay. You don’t have to,” I say and try to close my legs. He sets his hands on my thighs and shakes his head.

“Just wondering what the best approach is,” he says and tilts his head. I can’t help the laugh that bursts free. For a second, he looks hurt, but I grab hold of his shirt and pull him up towards me. 

“I’m not laughing at you, Graham, I swear. It’s not like we come with instructions manuals,” I say, but my body still shakes with laughter as I kiss him. When he lifts his head, though, he’s smiling. 

“Imagine  _ that  _ sex ed class in high school.” We’re both laughing as we peel away both our shirts. And while I’m not laughing as his mouth burns a path down my body, I am still smiling stupidly. Giddy with the slide of skin on skin and the thrill of his kisses.

Because I know that just like everything before this, he won’t give up until it’s earth shatteringly good for me. Maybe not tonight, but not everyone sticks the landing on their first jump.

“Tell me if you don’t like something I do,” he murmurs, repeating my words and waiting for my nod before he lowers his head.

I jump at the first contact then relax into the warmth of his mouth on my folds. The thorough, unhurried way he explores me. Soft pulses of delight radiate through me. Not overwhelming and not enough to orgasm, but so pleasurable. I play with his hair and lift my hips when he does something that feels especially good.

“I wonder,” he says as his fingers slide inside me. It takes a few tries and course corrections from me, but eventually he figures out how to get his mouth on my clit while his fingers cover familiar ground inside me. And then it’s not much longer before I’m arched on the bed, gripping his hair and gasping into the scattered pillows.

His teeth graze too hard and I lose it, groaning in frustration. But Graham doesn’t give up yet, his fingers and tongue working in tandem to bring me back to a dizzying height, my legs pulling up the bed as I spasm with hiccough like moans that are all I can manage with the feelings swirling through me.

Up, up, up, and then I break.

When I finally go limp with satisfied relief, he shifts up the bed, wiping his face on the pillow before kissing me. I can still taste myself on his skin, and cling to his shoulders as his fingers curl inside me.

“I want more,” he whispers to me. “I want everything.”

Our kisses muffle my soft squeals as I draw higher and closer. Shatter again beneath his touch, my legs clamping shut around his hand to keep him there as I ride it out. Through soft strokes of his fingers inside me and his tongue in my mouth as the aftershocks rock through me.

I float for a second and then a heaviness settles in my limbs, my legs dropping back open. He slips his fingers free and rests his hand on my hip as we stare at one another. A short giggle escapes and I cover my mouth to stop anymore.

“What’s so funny?” he asks and I shake my head.

“Nothing. It’s just. I never told you that there’s something else I’ve only done with you.”

“Oh?” he settles next to me and pulls me into an embrace.

“Orgasm twice in one day.”

“Huh,” he says, voice nonchalant, but I can tell by the smile on his face that he’s arrogantly pleased with himself. “I’ve also confirmed that you dated morons before me.”

“Oh?” It’s my turn to ask. Graham nuzzles my ear and whispers to me.

“You taste like heaven.”

My body has cooled now and between that and Graham’s words, I shiver. Graham scoops me up and gets us both under the covers. Then he struggles with the blankets as he tries to shed his pants beneath their warmth, making me laugh when he finally gets them off, crowing with triumph as he launches them across the room. He wraps his arms around me and kisses my forehead as my pulse finally slows, oddly at ease with him in just his underwear and me in just my bra, tucked away in bed together. His hands caressing over my back in a way that sends warmth and chills simultaneously through my limbs. A calm and a thrill that I somehow know is just right.

“Graham?” He hums in answer and I hold him closer, face turned into his chest as I speak. “I meant what I said earlier.”

“About what?” He thinks for a moment and then blushes a little. “You mean about us having sex.”

When I nod, he shifts his arms and body into a more comfortable position.

“Not tonight though,” he says. I’m about to tell him I’m good with tonight when he clarifies. “I don’t have any condoms or anything.”

“I’m on a pill now,” I remind him.

“I’d rather be sure,” he says softly. “I meant what I said, too Savannah. I want everything with you.”

Everything, I think as his hand skims up over my shoulder and I can’t help but lift it into his touch. Not just sex, but marriage, a family, a future. I’m humbled by his words as he blinks and lifts his eyes to stare into mine. Before I can wonder how he can be so sure so soon, he continues.

“But I don’t want it rushed or forced on anyone.” His words sink in and I nod, a sign of both agreement and understanding. “Any kids I have, I never want them to doubt how much they’re loved. Nothing is one hundred percent with birth control, so I’d rather have a safety net.”

“Okay,” I agree and lean in to kiss him. Because I feel the same way. “Just maybe start being prepared. You don’t go ski without your poles.”

“Well,” he says with a smile and I laugh, thinking of his jumps and realizing my error.

“You know what I mean!” I say and squirm as he tickles me. Playfulness turns serious as I yawn and he pulls me back into his embrace.

It’s much later when a disturbance wakes me and I search the room, groggy and confused until I see Graham gathering up his clothes and dressing. I make a noise of protest that draws him back to the bed.

“Sleep. Here,” I groan and he takes my hand in his, lifting it to his lips.

“Wish I could. I’ve got to be up early tomorrow morning for some training and then a short work shift.”

“Are we going skiing?” I ask and he nods.

“I’ll be done around ten and come find you.”

“M’kay,” I mutter as he tucks me back in and kisses me, whispers that he loves me. 

My dreams are pleasant, but I wake again shivering with cold and alone. I have to brave the cool air to find warm pajamas and then shiver in bed for another twenty minutes or so before my body heat warms the space enough for me to sleep. Right before I slip back under, the thought enters my brain that I wouldn’t be this cold with Graham sleeping next to me.


	11. The First Time

**_December 2003_ **

Until now, I’ve only been to Skadi in the summer, when she’s warm and green, vibrant and fragrant. Skadi in the winter is a whole other place. Did you know that sound travels further in cold air? It means that you can hear the excited laughter and shouts from the slopes, even when you’re sequestered on one of the woodland trails. Winter may be a season of dormancy in most places, but here it’s a season of life. The fragrance of woodsmoke or roasting foods drifting on the frigid breeze. The sounds of joy and excitement never far. Brightly colored skis and snow suits and helmets against the pale backdrop of a snow and frost covered tableau. 

During the night, there’s still a surprising amount of light. The heat of outdoor fires and people gathered around them. The warmth of electric lights spilling from the windows of scattered cabins, frosting the snow in shimmering squares. And if you manage to sneak away from humanity for a few minutes on a clear night and look up, the sky is nothing short of breathtaking.

I fall into a pattern here. In the mornings, I sleep in and after a leisurely breakfast, I wander down to the lodge where I curl up on a sofa in front of the many fireplaces and either sketch or read for a bit. Despite the approach of Christmas, the place is still a bustling hive of activity, giving me plenty of sources of inspiration and entertainment in the form of people watching. Around lunch, Graham will find me and we’ll eat and then go skiing. In the evenings, I call home, to make sure the twins at least know that I won’t vanish from their lives. It’s not only my first time staying in a place by myself, it’s also the first Christmas that I’m spending away from my family. 

Most evenings, I’m lucky if Graham’s free. He’s usually working. Still, we find time to spend together.

I discover the thrill of downhill skiing, not because I really want to but because it turns out Katniss was right about Graham being a bit of a perfectionist, especially where his sport is concerned. I already knew that, but it’s even more apparent when we attempt to ski one of the trails. There’s no way I could ever keep up with him and it becomes clear pretty fast that I’m just frustrating him. I’m not as concerned with technique as he is and would rather just enjoy the scenery.

Which is probably why when I suggest he show me downhill skiing, despite my trepidation about emergency rooms, he seems almost relieved.

“Did he finally bore you to death?” Ryen asks as we run into him at the top of the ski lifts. Before Graham can answer, Ryen skis off across the mountain. “Later, losers!”

Graham shakes his head and guides me towards an area where I feel very old. There’s at least a dozen kids whizzing down the hill on skis. I mean, it’s one thing seeing a picture of Katniss and Peeta skiing at that age. Both of them are now competitive skiers.

“Wow. They start early for the Olympics training around here,” I say and Graham shrugs.

“There might be one future competitor in that group. The rest will just do this fun.” Then he looks and me and shakes his head as he must realize how that sounds. “Hey, there are plenty of people who don’t start skiing until they’re older.”

“I’m  _ older _ now?”

“That’s not what I mean,” he says, seeming flustered. Then he dives right into the lesson. I’m a disaster. If I get my stance right, my arms are all wrong. If I manage to start, I fall or tangle my skis when I try to stop. I can feel my entire frame tensing tighter the longer we work.

“Maybe I should just watch,” I say and sit in the snow, observing the kids. We’re silent for a time and it reminds me of our first date for some reason. The return of the awkward. But we got over that eventually. “They just look so...fearless.”

“You know what,” Graham says and hauls me back to my feet. Or rather to my skis. “You’re exactly right. Maybe your problem is fear. So we’re gonna learn by fire.”

“What?” I ask, but he’s too busy reminding me how to stop to respond to the fear in my voice.

“Cross the skis at the front to slow down.” Then he clarifies when I make a noise of distress. “Point your toes together to stop.”

And then he’s standing behind me, hands covering mine, his skis straddling mine. 

“Lean forward,” he says and he digs my poles in, forcing me to shove off. Then he let’s go of me.

“Ah,” I say and wobble but Graham shouts to bend my knees a little and that seems to do the trick.

He catches up to me easily. It is the beginner slope after all, and he talks me through all the way to the bottom. I laugh and manage to stop. Twist my torso to look back up the hill, to see the ground that I covered.

“I did it!”

Graham’s smiling and leans over to kiss my cheek. “Have fun?”

“Can we do that again?” I ask and he laughs.

After another hour and a few minor spills, I think I’ve got the hang of it. I’m still glad when he suggests we stop for the day and get some hot chocolate. On our way back towards the lodge, he’s still dispensing advice. I try to absorb it all, but a loud whoop catches my attention. I look up in time to see a skier still far up the mountain. He flies over a snowbank, kicking his skis up over his head in a quick flip before he lands.

“He better hope Mom doesn’t see that,” Graham mutters. I’m about to ask why not when someone on a snowboard follows, this one spinning mid air, landing backwards, and shouting up the hill at a third, more cautious skier who skips the jump altogether, curving around the snowbank in a smooth arc instead.

The first skier gets closer and I recognize the gear Ryen was wearing earlier. His smile is wide as he comes to a halt and Graham shouts to get his attention.

“How were the bunny slopes, Gramma? Just right for your old bones?” Ryen shouts back.

Graham’s teeth grind together. Then Peeta digs his board into the snow and a wave of the stuff flies up over Ryen. Katniss laughs and Ryen sighs, scraping snow off his coat and pants.

“So what slopes are they on and can I attempt them without killing myself?” I ask Graham.

“Black diamond. Those are the advanced slopes,” he says.

“Ah, so I’m nowhere near ready for that.”

“Probably not,” he says, not unkindly.

“But you are,” I say and motion towards his brothers. “Go make him eat his words.”

“I don’t want to leave you alone.”

“I’ll be fine,” I insist and give him a gentle push. “You’ve spent the whole afternoon on hills that I’m guessing are really boring for you, with a not so easy to teach student.”

“You weren’t hard to teach, once we figured out you learn better by just doing something.”

“Graham, I mean it. Go have some fun.” His eyes flick towards where Katniss has finally caught up with the two boys. I can tell he wants to and give him one last nudge.

“I won’t be long. One run,” he promises. “But um...just remember that Ryen actually competes in downhill.”

“Is that a disclaimer in case he beats you to the bottom?” I ask and Graham shrugs, uncertainty in his eyes. Like I’d actually care or think less of him for this.

“The only reason he’s on this slope and not the double black diamond is because of Katniss and Peeta. So maybe it is a disclaimer. They’re already talking about Turin for him in 2006.”

“Really? How old would he be for that?”

“Seventeen,” Graham says meaningfully and I whistle. That’s so young. But it gives me an idea of just how good Ryen must be.

“So then why wouldn’t your mom want him skiing like that here?”

“No, it’s the flips that make her…” he pauses and chuckles. “It’s the flips he does that make her flip out.”

I laugh a little too and glance back at the trio. “And Peeta? On the board? She’s not too thrilled with that either, is she?”

“Peeta just started competing in downhill skiing, and he’s good, but he’s already about a hundred times better on that board. He likes it more.”

“Sounds like you all need some fun. So go,” I say again. “You can either gloat or I’ll console you later.”

He smiles at that and hurries off to join them. Graham snags Ryen’s ankle with his ski pole and the younger brother nearly falls. When Ryen regains his balance, he follows Graham and the other two towards the lifts, looking astonished. I don’t think he’s used to Graham fighting back.

I’ve got time while they ascend to the top of the mountain, so I wander inside and return the skis, grab some hot chocolate and hurry back out to watch. I’ve drank about half of the delicious stuff when I spot them. Four bright dots crossing back and forth in front of one another. Then it’s their laughter and shouts reaching my ears and I smile as Graham flies over a bump in the hill, airborne and tucking his knees up, although he refrains from any fancy tricks. His skis hit powder and he keeps going with Ryen hot on his tail.

Then Ryen catches up, cutting swiftly through turns, picking up speed and flying down the hill to the finish. Almost breathtakingly fast. I can see, even without the highly groomed slopes and marked gates, why they’d want Ryen on an Olympic team for this. He crows loudly in triumph, but Graham’s not far behind him, smiling and saying something that actually makes Ryen laugh. I wish I could capture it somehow. But I don’t have a video camera.

“Alright,” Graham says when Katniss and Peeta join them, indicating that he’s about to leave, and Ryen complains, begging for one more run. When Graham tries to protest, although it sounds reluctant to me, Ryen turns to me for backup.

“Pretty please, Savannah?” Ryen asks with wide blue, puppy dog eyes. “One more?”

A strange feeling sweeps through me as the four of them look up at me on the lodge patio, practically begging for more time to play in the snow.

“Alright, one more,” I say, laughing indulgently as Ryen pumps the air with his fist. They head back towards the lifts.

I finish my hot chocolate and am about to jump inside for a quick refill when Mrs. Mellark strides onto the patio, searching the slopes for a moment, eyes finally settling on me.

“Have you seen any of my sons?” she asks. Heat fills me, a trepidation at the choice in front of me, and an ingrained fear at lying to an adult. Not just any adult, but Graham’s mother.

“Not in awhile,” I say with a shrug. She makes a disgruntled noise and eyes my snow boots and snow pants.

“Then what are you doing out here?”

“Just enjoying the fresh air, the view, and the delicious hot chocolate,” I say.

“Fine. If you see them, tell them I need to talk to them. Graham’s not answering his phone,” she says and leaves me alone. I let out a slow breath and stare up the slope, hoping it takes them a few more minutes at least, just to put some space between myself and Mrs. Mellark.

Shame hits me shortly after she goes. I just  _ lied _ to her. On Christmas Eve. Why?

That’s when Ryen skis around the bend, hellbent for the base of the mountain. There’s another flip off a snowbank, a slight bobble on the landing but he holds on to it. Graham cutting across and then nearly colliding with Ryen. Peeta flying off the same bank as Ryen, flipping once as well before he lands and shouts in triumph, making me wonder if that was his first flip, or at least an early success.

They’re all so happy, wide smiles and steamy breaths ringing their faces as they stop. I lean over the railing and Graham’s face turns stiff as I tell him that their mother was looking for them.

“She said she tried to call a few times.”

“Shoot,” he says and searches his pockets, frowning at his phone once he gets it out. “I left it on silent.”

“She probably just needs us to help get ready for the feast,” Peeta reassures Graham.

The feast. Graham told me about this. Eirik hosts all the families who live here for a Christmas Eve feast every year.

“Yeah,” he says as he looks at his phone. He hands out marching orders instead of calling her back and they all split. Katniss back to her family’s cabin to drop off her gear and check in with her parents. Ryen and Peeta head upstairs to drop off their own skis and such. I offer to help and Graham points me towards the ballroom.

“I won’t be long,” he promises. “Just need to drop my skis upstairs.”

I soon find myself arranging steaming platters on long tables with a middle aged woman named Rooba. We’ve met a few times before in the shop that she runs here and chat easily about how delicious everything smells, how great the lobby decorations look. She’s friendly and laughter comes easily as she introduces me to several members of the Skadi family. She’s got at least one amusing story for each of them.

I have a moment of homesick sadness when I realize I haven’t talked to my own siblings yet today.

Then Graham is there and the joy of the night, the warmth of good food and company sweeps me away in a sea of smiles. Graham holds my hand, starting after we’ve turned in our empty plates for washing. Then he doesn’t let go for the rest of the night. 

At one point, he leans down to whisper in my ear. “I was thinking we could go to your cabin after this. So I can give you your present tonight.”

When I lean back to look into his eyes, I have a brief moment where I want to say that I kind of hope he’s my present. Instead, I simply nod in agreement. It’s probably too soon for him to have acquired some condoms anyways. In spite of me reminding myself of that throughout the feast, I exist in a nervous, half aroused state the rest of the time. I stress eat several rolls and then cookies. Smile and pretend like I’m not having the filthiest thoughts imaginable in a room filled with Graham’s family and friends. 

We stay mostly on the fringes of the crowd, my head swimming with new names and faces as Graham introduces me to several more of the employees I’ve never had a chance to meet before. I spot Ryen plunking out songs on a piano in the corner, Katniss singing along, although it’s too loud in here for me to hear her. Peeta sits nearby, scribbling something in his sketchbook. A young girl with blond pigtail braids runs up to them, grabbing Katniss’ attention -- her younger sister, Primrose, who I’ve seen very little of on my summer trips here. With a grin, the two girls sneak off, leaving Ryen protesting the loss of his vocalist. The sight of them is oddly comforting in the huge crowd, even if it is across a large room.

“I have to go help out in the kitchen,” Graham tells me as the night winds down. My heart sinks a little at the words but then he lifts it right back up. “But I’ll come see you after I’m done? I still want to give you your gift tonight.”

“I’ll help,” I offer and he stares at me oddly.

“Or you could use the time to call your family. You mentioned earlier that you hadn’t yet.” 

His thoughtfulness makes me smile, all warm and fuzzy inside. “Okay. Let me know when you’re on your way?”

It’s a brisk walk back to my cabin by myself, and my cheeks still burn with the cold as I call my family. Brianna talks enough for all of them, although the twins shout interjections here and there. I close my eyes at one point and imagine our scrawny plastic tree that we’ve had for years. For the longest time, Mom and I would put on the lights every year then we’d decorate with paper ornaments I’d made with Brianna and the twins. This year, Mom couldn’t seem to find time so it was Brianna and I who did the lights. She got hopelessly tangled in them. But the image in my head is so very different from the massive, professionally decorated trees in Skadi’s lobby. Even the one in the Mellark’s family suite, although it’s festooned with more traditional Norwegian decorations, lacks a sort of family tie to it. 

At the very least, though my three siblings all sound happy to hear that I’m enjoying myself. They especially love my handful of skiing stories. I remind them that I’ll be home in three days and then we hang up. I distract myself from missing them by moving about the cabin, starting the fire. Warming some hot chocolate and retrieving my gift for Graham from where I stashed it in a drawer in the bedroom. I set the wrapped package on the table in the sitting room and check the time. 

It’s getting late and still no word from Graham. Maybe he forgot, although wouldn’t be like him at all. More likely, he got caught up with the teardown for the feast. I can’t imagine him leaving before everything is taken care of. Then the thought occurs to me that maybe his mother is thwarting us. It is Christmas Eve, a time to be spent with family. But again, I can’t imagine that he’d leave me waiting if that’s the case. 

I’m considering starting on the hot chocolate on my own when my phone rings.

“Hey, I didn’t wake you, did I?” he asks as soon as I greet him.

“No, I’m still awake,” I say and glance out the window. It’s pitch dark out there. Maybe he shouldn’t come over tonight.

“Teardown took a little longer than I thought. Then I kind of smelled like dish duty,” he says and I chuckle.

“I wouldn’t have minded.”

“I did mind,” he says and then makes a gagging noise that makes me laugh again. 

“I also have a shower in this cabin,” I say and he remains quiet just long enough to make me feel like maybe that was too bold. I can hear the crunch of his boots in snow over the line. Although honestly, we’ve been together for over two years now and we’re talking about having sex. What’s a little shower together?

“I, um, already took one,” he admits. “That’s part of what took me so long.”

“Oh,” I say, a little disappointed again. “Well, the invitation stands for future.”

“I’ll remember that,” he says. “I’ll see you in a few minutes.”

When he knocks, we sort of dance around one another as I invite him in, and that makes me wonder if maybe I’m wrong. Maybe he is ready for us to take that last step tonight. Then he clears his throat and thrusts a small wrapped package into my hands. We sit on the couch with our cocoa and gifts. He leaves his sitting on the table and motions towards mine. 

“Open it,” he urges with an almost boyish eagerness.

“Okay,” I say and carefully lift one flap, glancing up at him. He looks amused and I give up all pretense, tearing the paper off with a vengeance. He laughs but I can’t. I stare at the box I’ve unwrapped, overwhelmed. 

“Graham,” I whisper and shake my head.

“I thought maybe it’d be good for capturing quick images to inspire you, or just life in general,” he says and shifts my hands and starts explaining some of the features of the digital camera, showing me the printing on the box. He falls silent when I just sit there.

“These are so…”

“What?”

“Expensive,” I say and look up at him with shameful tears filling my eyes. His widen and he shakes his head.

“I didn’t mean to -- crap. Savannah, I -- okay maybe there’s a little bit of selfishness here, too. Maybe this will make it easier for me to see you while I’m gone, yeah?” he says and I nod, reluctant to admit that it would. “I can take it back still,” he says and now I’m shaking my head.

“No, I’m just not used to such...big gifts.”

“It’s actually very small,” he says and takes it out of my hands as I laugh and he opens the box to show me just how  _ small _ the camera is. It only takes a few more minutes of his cajoling and the two of us posing, trying to get a decent picture of us together. Then I’m relaxed again and ready to share, too.

I bite my lip as I hand him the wrapped package. He’s a meticulous, must not rip the paper unwrapper and by the time he’s got it uncovered, holding the moleskin book and the fancy fountain pen still in its box in his hands, I’m a complete bundle of nerves.

“Maybe there’s a little bit of selfish in my gift too,” I say as he opens the book. I can’t watch his face and instead watch his hands as he flips the pages to look at each drawing followed by about a dozen blank pages. Finally, he flips back to the front where I’ve drawn us based off the pictures we took on that hike last summer, and the note I wrote to him.

“For drafts one through four,” he reads and I risk a look up. He’s smiling. Bright and happy. “You drew all of these pictures.” I nod. “And this is for me to use for drafting my letters to you.”

“Or writing food reviews, training schedules. Whichever,” I say. He laughs and sets it aside with the camera before taking my hands in his. 

“I love it. Thank you.”

He leans forward and our lips meet in a soft kiss. The quiet in the room feels like a precipice. The silence of the snowbound world outside, the warmth in here with us. Our fingers twined together. When he lifts his head, I think maybe he felt it too.

“It’s late,” he whispers.

“And cold,” I say. He nods slowly. “So stay a little while.”

I’ve only just told him that I love him, but in that moment, I know. I want more. I want everything. And I’m going to have it with Graham.

I whisper his name and he nods, standing and taking me with him. He pauses to grab his coat, confusing me as he brings it with him into the bedroom. I sit on the edge of the bed as he fishes something out of his coat pocket. Then I bite the corner of my lip to shreds with nerves and repressed laughter as the firelight catches on the short, foil wrapped strip.

“I may have over prepared,” he says as he sets them on the bed and sits with me. We shift so that we’re facing one another and my heart thunders in my chest. My palms feel clammy and my stomach heavy and knotted. Maybe we’re not prepared for this.

“When did you get those?” I ask and his eyes drop. His ears are pink and the blush is quickly spreading down his neck and over his cheeks. 

“This morning. They um, sell some in Rooba’s shop. I was hoping one of the seasonal hires would be working there instead of her since her place is kind of a gossip hub, but no such luck.” Then he laughs. He laughs and lifts my hands with his so that we’re palm to palm. “I thought I was going to die with the looks Rooba kept giving us at the feast tonight.”

“What?” I ask and stifle my own laughter.

“Yeah, guess it was pretty obvious why I was buying them.”

“So what do you want to do?” I ask and nervously play with his fingers until he laces us together so I can’t. The motion has the odd effect of suddenly calming me. “It’ll look pretty obvious if you’re not in your own bed tomorrow morning.”

“Probably,” he says. “I’m not sure that I give a damn how it looks.”

A deep silence falls as he scoots closer, so our knees touch. My pulse races forward once more, pounding in my ears and drowning out the rest of the world. I’m afraid to let myself get too involved. Afraid that maybe he’ll change his mind. Or that when we’re done, he’ll just leave.

His forehead touches mine and we sit there, breathing for just a second before he leans forward to kiss me. Our noses bump and he jumps back. A beat of silence and then soft chuckles as we move in together and I let go of one of his hands to caress his cheek and then play with the hair on the back of his neck as we kiss.

Suppressed desires bubble quickly to the surface, making our mouths frantic and uncoordinated. He drops my other hand and both of his twist the hem of my sweater and the blouse beneath, exposing a small strip of my skin to the cool air.

I gasp and he pauses in kissing me to look into my eyes, seeking approval, I think as he sits perfectly still. How could he doubt that I still want this? Want him? I nod and lift my arms for him, waiting and panting desperately as he drags both shirt and sweater up, his knuckles skimming my ribs as he goes. The blouse catches on my chin for a second and I tip it up, freeing my clothes. 

His hands and mouth return to me and I settle my hands on his shoulders. Not for long, though as our lips slide together and he whispers that he loves me before shifting to his knees, pressing me back into the pillows and laying over me. I spread my legs to hug his hips, to welcome him as we continue kissing.

I’ve spent so much of this trip already with slick panties and a racing pulse, it feels almost my normal state now. Our hands roam. Torso for me, legs for him, until I can’t take it anymore and whimper his name.

He kisses down my body and I bend into the touch. Each kiss pulling me further off the sheets into him. His weight presses me back down as both his hands cup my breasts and squeeze gently, the silky material of my bra soft and torturous on my nipples. His mouth kissing dips and swells, his tongue slipping under fabric for just a second, just a quick swipe of puckered flesh that has me moaning softly before he moves on down my sternum to my belly.

“I’m gonna try to go slow,” he murmurs and I nod, licking my lips and swallowing as I watch him unfasten my jeans. His eyes flick up to mine, a question in them, and a pause in his motions with the open flaps of my jeans grasped in his hands.

“Yes,” I say and Iift my hips to help. He shimmies the jeans down my legs, dropping kisses every few inches.

“It’s like I get two presents to unwrap,” he teases and I groan at his bad joke then kick my feet to help him free my ankles. My skin is alive, overly sensitive with anticipation and making everything feel about a thousand times more. 

He slides back up my body halfway, pausing to nip and kiss my belly. My fingers twist in his hair, tugging on soft strands as I am once more pulled up off the bed, desperate to be as close to him and his mouth as possible.

Then he’s gone, leaving me chilled in the sudden absence of his heat. My eyes fly open, and find him kneeling between my legs, just looking.

“What?” I ask, self consciously covering my abdomen. He shakes his head and stops my hands.

“Not all of us can capture memories in drawings or paintings. Some of us peasants have to rely on memory.”

I laugh and shake my head. “So you’re memorizing me?”

“Yes. You. This moment.” I smile and wriggle into what I hope is a more sensual position, propped up on my forearms.

“Don’t take too long. It’s a little chilly in here. And you’re overdressed.”

He scoffs and then reaches behind his head, pulling his sweater up and over and off. He’s wearing a Henley beneath it and I bite my lip as he stands, my knees pulling back together for warmth as I rest my feet on the bed.

“I even skipped the tie,” he points out, making me laugh again. He’s so often dressed like he’s off to church that there’s something almost decadent and forbidden about seeing him in something one might lounge in.

“Still too much,” I say with a teasing shake of my head.

The shirt follows the sweater and then the rest until he’s standing naked and gorgeous with his body silhouetted in firelight. Now I’m trying to memorize him because my fingers itch to draw him and my body screams for him to take me now.

“You cannot be real,” I say and he grins before climbing back on the bed towards me. My skin tingles with anticipation. My mouth and folds salivating with desire. 

Graham runs his palms up my legs to my knees, then gently spreads them open. He settles between my thighs, joins our lips together and moans into my mouth. His hips push down into mine, his erection sliding over my panties.

We remain like that, kissing and slowly working ourselves up until neither of us can deny this a second longer. He sits up, pulls me up into his lap and kisses my shoulder, grumbling curses to my skin as he tears at my bra clasp and finally flings the thing aside. It connects with the dresser and I laugh as he tosses me back down on the bed and we wriggle beneath the covers, our heat quickly warming the sheets and the pockets of air surrounding us.

Then I’m sighing as he kisses down my body. “Oh, I want you so much. Please, Graham?”

He groans as he reaches my hips and his nails scrape my skin as he kisses low on my belly and drags my panties down. Down down and off as he whispers to my skin. “I want you, too. So much, Savannah. I feel like I’m burning from the inside out.”

I’m not expecting the shift or his mouth on my folds and cry out as he tongues me. I tangle one hand in the sheets to ground myself and one in his hair to keep him there. He laps at me and I writhe, so close to exploding beneath his tongue.

I shout his name as I dangle off the edge, although true release skips away and I pull on his hair to get him to look up at me. “Now.”

“Now?” he asks, a flash of panic in his eyes. “Are you, um ready?”

His sweet question makes me smile and paw at his shoulders. “I don’t see how I can’t be.”

“Okay,” he hesitates and then rises to his knees, retrieving the condoms as I lay there and wait. He’s careful ripping one from the strip. Careful tearing it open. I bite back a groan of frustration as he carefully rolls one on and then sigh in relief as he crawls back over me.

He reaches down to hold himself still as I shift closer, until I feel him brushing my folds. He slides in a little and then stops when I gasp.

“What is it? I’m not hurting you, am I?”

I shake my head and wrap my arms around his waist. “No, I’ve just never felt anything this thick inside me.”

“Oh,” he says and looks down at where we’re partially joined. “I feel like this a tasteless time to make a joke about measuring up.”

I laugh and lift my hips into his. I bite my lip when it starts to burn a little, my eyes watering as he comes to rest with a deep groan and our hips flush. He sees the grimace on my face that I’m doing a poor job of hiding and curses.

“I’m doing this wrong, aren’t I?” He moves to pull out and I shake my head, wrap my legs around his hips to hold him inside me.

“I don’t...know,” I whisper. Graham lowers himself to his forearms, our chests pressing together as he brushes hair back from my face.

“What can I do?” he whispers.

“Kiss me,” I suggest, because I don’t know what else to do. It doesn’t really hurt, it just feels odd, maybe uncomfortable. Maybe I should have suggested he get some KY along with the condoms. I chuckle in his mouth a little at the thought of what Rooba would have to say about that and Graham lifts his head to stare at me. “No, don’t stop.”

He kisses me until I’m dizzy and my hands have charted every plane and twitching muscle in his back. Until my hips start to rock on their own and I don’t even realize what I’m doing until Graham thrusts, short and soft into me and I gasp at the gentle burst of pleasure.

“Oh.”

“Oh,” he echoes and does it again, slow and shallow. Again. My eyes flutter closed as he rises onto his hands so he can rest his forehead on mine and his breaths fan over my face. “Feel good?”

I mumble a response, answering more with my hands caressing over his arms and back. My feet slip and I brace the soles on his calves, toes curling as the bursts meld together, undulating through me in soft waves.

“Fuck,” he whispers as he nuzzles and kisses my neck. I arch beneath him, my head tipping back as the motions of his hips speed up and his arms shake. “Should it feel this good?”

“I don’t know,” I admit and tangle one hand in his hair again as his moans heat my neck and his thrusts quicken to a pace that’s almost too much for me.

“Oh fuck, Savannah,” he groans and his hips slam into mine, his abs spasming against mine and I blink in confusion. His entire body shudders and then he falls still, his weight anchoring me motionless to the bed.

I’m left hanging and disappointed. The words  _ That’s it? _ float through my brain but I refrain from voicing them. It’s the first time for both of us, after all. And if Graham remains true to form, it won’t be the last, and the next time will be infinitely better. 

“Damnit,” he says and lifts his head. “You didn’t come, did you?”

I shake my head and trace a finger over his nose. “Not yet.”

“Damn straight not yet,” he says and slides out of me. I wince and he freezes. “Does that hurt?”

“It burns a little,” I admit. His eyes darken, but something makes me stop him from touching me, from getting me to orgasm with his fingers or mouth. “Can we just...hold each other for a bit?”

“Oh, sure,” he says and deals with the condom then stretches out next to me. His hair is mussed up from me gripping it, and his cheeks are stained in a beautiful flush. His skin is warm and supple, eyes shining with satisfaction. Before he can pull me into an embrace, I’m struck with another kind of need.

“I change my mind. Can I draw you?” I ask and then feel myself blushing deep and hot as he stares at me.

“You mean…” he stops and glances down at himself, a sheet held over his hips. “Like this?”

“Yes,” I say. “Exactly like this.”

He considers it for a moment and then nods. I rise from the bed and gather my drawing supplies. He watches me and clears his throat nervously. I pull my hair back into a messy bun as I contemplate him and the light. I sit on the edge of the bed and murmur instructions, motioning with hands and my pencil, arranging his pose until he looks relaxed and natural, lounging in bed.

“There!” I say and he huffs a little. “Don’t move.”

“I think I get what you meant about this not being arousing,” he says and closes his eyes for a second.

“I think I may have found the exception,” I say. His eyes fly back open and I shrug, trying to appear casual, like I don’t want to forget the drawing and jump him. “Don’t move. Think about something pleasant.”

“That’s easy,” he says and smiles at me. 

It’s distracting. He’s distracting. As much as I try to focus on what I’m doing and make this drawing clinical, I am unable to deny or ignore the ripples of phantom sensations over my skin. The desire to touch my subject. I’m already familiar with what his skin feels like against mine. What he feels like moving inside me.

Recreating the contours of his body does nothing to quench the desire. It only makes it worse. To the point that I can feel perspiration forming on the small of my back, arousal slicking between my legs, even more than before, and I’m breathing hard by the time I’ve got an outline of his form and start on the details. 

It’s like I’ve been skiing up a hill all day rather than just sitting here drawing him. I push myself to keep going, and finally turn my sketchbook around to show him. He blinks in surprise and reaches out to touch the edge of the page.

“You made me look like...”

“Like what?” I ask, and turn it back around to look for errors. To search for something I captured that maybe wasn’t there. I see nothing amiss or out of the ordinary.

“Like I’m...relaxed. Sexy.” He nearly chokes on the word and I finally lift my eyes to his. My lungs burn and I squeeze my thighs together.

“But you are,” I whisper. He looks confused. The sketchbook slips out of my hands as I launch myself at him and we fall back onto the bed. My fingers search along the lines I just drew. He lifts the sheet and yanks me beneath it, up against his body. My thigh brushes his cock, swelling anew and I smile against his lips. “Wanna try something new?”

“Yes,” he agrees happily and smiles as I hand him another condom. He rolls it on as I kiss his neck, his jaw, his torso. Then he gasps with surprise when his hand lands on my hip and I roll on top of him.

He blinks up at me and then smiles into the kiss as I shift my legs to straddle him, grab his cock and hold him tight as I slide down onto him. Slowly, my head tipping back on a groan as he fills me. Then his hands skim everywhere as I move, rocking my hips and astonished at how amazing that feels.

“Like that?” he asks and I nod frantically. He grips my hips and guides them in a rotation that makes us both cry out. We keep trying different motions of my hips over him, discovering what feels good and what feels heavenly, reveling in the warmth of our skin sticking together then sliding free, the heat of our motions where we’re connected and the passion of kisses, whispered words. He pulls the tie from my hair then combs his fingers through the strands. I rise up over him and his foot kicks in a spasm as I roll my hips and stare down at him.

“Oh my god,” I gasp and then smile in triumph at what this position does inside me.

‘Holy fuck,” he says as I move and his eyes watch the motion of my hips over him. “Please tell me this feels fucking amazing for you, too.”

“It does,” I whimper, my body rolling with each thrust of my hips over him. He grips my waist and mutters broken phrases as I move and climb, ecstasy coiling tight in my core, tight as a spring as my head drops back and I gasp to the ceiling. Words become impossible as colors and heat dance inside me and then I feel the soft rush of release, coupled with Graham’s shout of victory as my walls clench him tight. I can feel their pulsing in a way I never have before with his cock thick inside me, pressing back against them.

“Oh shit,” he says and I feel him arch beneath me as my body gives out and I collapse in a heap on top of him. We lay there, his hands caressing over my hair and his breaths hot and fast over my ear.

“I can’t move,” I finally manage to moan and he laughs, his arms wrapping tight around me.

“Then don’t.” I grin foolishly as my pulse slows back down, bringing my fists up to my mouth to hide the giddy expression. He seems as awestruck and high as me. “When can we do that again?”

I laugh then as he flips us over, my back hitting the sheets and my hair a mess as he gazes down at me with a grin on his face. His blue eyes a shimmering shade of ocean and in their depths, I can see the rest of our lives together. I love what I see, I think right before he leans down to kiss me and I wrap my arms around his neck.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright, we're moving along here. It may take me a while to get chapter 12 up because holidays. For those of you who are attempting to line up timelines, chapter 12 will take place in the summer of 2005. Yes, I know that's a huge time jump from this chapter but really we'll be here forever if I don't skip some stuff. Anywho, summer of 2005 also known as the summer of Ryen's arrest and the Hello Kitty band-aid & cinnamon roll incident for my "Outside the Lines" fans. Answers for those questions then. For those of you still waiting for an "Outside Chance" update, please trust me when I say that I am just as frustrated as you on that one. All I can say is that it's not abandoned and I'll get it done as soon as I possibly can, given cooperation from time and the muse. As always, comments welcome!


	12. The Setup

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A reminder of pertinent ages, because I needed it so I imagine you probably will as well.
> 
> Graham & Savannah 23  
> Ryen 16  
> Katniss & Peeta 13  
> Prim 9

**_Wyoming - Summer 2005_ **

The methodical task of cleaning brushes allows my mind a chance to wander. Just a little. It’s the end of a long day and my stomach grumbles for dinner. First, I need to finish cleaning up here. I focus on the murky water sluicing off the bristles as I work. It’s a good way to channel my frustration.

I have a degree, as of May. Finally. Communications with minors in art history and visual arts. It took me longer than planned with all the extras I added on and the handful of semesters I had to pull back on my hours at school to work more hours at my job. But right now I don’t have a job. At least not a permanent, full time job. I’ve got more seasonal, part time, temporary jobs than I know what to do with right now.

My position at the department store back home is on hold for me. I can always get another cashier job like the one I held almost all through high school. For now, though, I took this -- teaching art at a summer camp held near Skadi.

It meant a steady paycheck -- always important. A chance to work with kids -- maybe I should have gotten a teaching license too…  And it also meant that for the first time since we started dating, Graham and I would have the opportunity to be together for more than just a few days in a row.

The problem is that hasn’t worked out as well as we’d planned. Both of us are busy almost all day long. Work for us both, training and classes for him, job searching for me. We sleep only a few miles apart and yet it still feels like we’re existing on a thread that’s barely attached.

I’m not allowed to spend nights with Graham in his home, even in between camps when I’d actually have enough time to make it back to the campsites before I’m needed. Mrs. Mellark made it clear she’s concerned about the influence of “overnight guests” with Peeta and Ryen still being so young. I nearly snorted when she laid the decree out.

Has she seen her middle son in action? Anyone paying attention to that boy knows he’s a walking talking hormone. Not in a malicious way, though. He might be smarmy and a shameless flirt, but Ryen’s also a sweetie in many ways, although don’t tell him that. He seems to thrive on his budding image as a bad boy player. What can I say, I have a soft spot for rogues with heart. Must be the influence of my twin brothers.

As for Peeta, he might be young, but right now, he’s only got eyes for one girl on this planet. Katniss. Still, they’re only thirteen and I hate to embarrass either of them by vocalizing my assumptions. I’m not sure what exactly he and Katniss are to each other outside of best friends. The way they communicate with each other often reminds me of the twins, but it’s not quite the same. From the way he acts around her, though, I can tell that Peeta at least has tender feelings beyond friendship for Katniss, but she’s a little harder to read. Either way, he’s past the age where he’ll start being curious so I guess I can understand Mrs. Mellark not wanting a twenty something year old girl who isn’t family in her home overnight with her young son.

It’s not just Graham’s mother that’s been keeping us at a distance of sorts, though. There’s not much here in the way of year round employment for me right now, although I have been looking. I have better odds back in Salt Lake. While Graham and I have vaguely talked about a future together, there’s no reason for him to pick up and leave his home until I have something stable set up, especially when he’s still working on his degree.

The last of the brushes are finally clean and rinsed. I set them in a line and gently pat them dry, glancing up through the cabin windows at the fading sunlight arching across the lush green of the trees. It still won’t be dark for a few more hours, but I’ve come to love the sunsets at Skadi.

Moving around the room swiftly, I set up for tomorrow’s group and then head outside, locking the door behind me. I can hear the faint echoes of canoeing down at the lake -- laughter and the splash of paddles, the shrill blast of a counselor’s whistle. It makes me smile as I walk along the wooded pathways towards the cabin I share with four other counselors.

It’s bare bones, but in some ways it’s comforting. Reminds me of the summers I’d spend away from home with Penelope for summer camp. Thinking of her makes me sigh in more frustration, though. We’ve drifted apart over the past two years. Our only real contact now is as Facebook friends, and I was reluctant to allow even that.

The days are warm, although it still gets chilly in the evenings this high in the mountains, so I grab a hoodie and my laptop. Took me almost the entire past two years of saving whatever I could plus begging for cash for Christmas presents instead of other things before I could afford it. I think maybe I’ll head down to the lodge this evening and hang out in the lobby, applying for jobs and hopefully spending some time with Graham after he finishes his shift working the front desk.

I settle close to the cafe, the one spot with free internet hookups available right now. There aren’t too many people who appear to be using it right now, so hopefully I won’t spend too much time waiting on websites to load.

I’ve managed a few new applications and written down a few numbers to call in the next day or two. My neck is starting to ache and I’ve plowed through two coffees and a croissant when my phone rings. It stops before I can answer it, frowning at Graham’s name on the screen for a second. It disappears and two seconds later, he slides into the seat next to me with a muffled groan.

“You alright?” I ask and slip my hand into his. He yawns, hiding it behind his other hand and looking around the lobby.

“Not really. I’ve been fielding complaints all day. It’s insane. No one notices the laundry in a hotel until one burst boiler means people have to wait for their hot towels in the spa.”

“The horror.” I chuckle a little and scoot my chair closer to his.

“How about you?”

“Two more days with this group, then I’ll have a few days to get ready for the next one. Today we painted log slices.”

“That sounds fun,” he says haltingly, like he’s not quite sure, and I squint at his tone. “What do they paint on them?”

“You know what, I’ll show you,” I say and he blinks, confused as I quickly pack up my things.

“Huh?”

“Come on. We’re going for a short hike. I’ll show you where I work for now.” I’ll admit it’s not just about showing him what I’ve been up to. There’s also a part of me that’s hoping for some time alone. As in _alone_ alone with him.

“Okay,” he agrees and glances down at the slacks and nice shirt he’s wearing. “I need to change first.”

As we both stand, I lace my fingers back together with his, letting him know that I’m going with him. I don’t care if it takes just a handful of minutes to walk upstairs, change, and return back down. We’ve barely had any time alone together. I’ve been here two weeks and we’ve hardly kissed, let alone made love. The last time we managed that was when he was in Utah for my graduation.

It’s honestly driving me insane. It’s so much easier to deal with when there’s an ocean between us. Then he’s completely out of my reach. When he’s in Salt Lake for training or whatnot, it’s never this bad either. Then he at least has a hotel room all to himself where we can sneak away and do as we please, but here like this…

His thumb absently rubs at the back of my hand as we walk and he tells me about his day. I’m only half listening, my mind occupied with thoughts of all the nooks and crannies and shadowed places in the camp or on the grounds of Skadi where I’ve caught myself imagining dragging Graham, defiling the space with raunchy sex because I can’t take it anymore.

Listen to me. I’ve turned into a sex crazed beast. I shake my head slightly to dislodge the thoughts, but as we enter the owner’s suite, they’re still there. Poking at my subconscious and having all sorts of unwanted effects.

“Where are you headed?” Graham asks as Peeta flies by us, a skateboard under his arm and earbuds in his ears.

“Huh?” Peeta asks as he pauses. Graham tugs one bud out and repeats his question. “Mr. Everdeen is taking me and Katniss into town for a bit. Later!”

With that, he’s gone. We step inside and are met with silence after the door shuts. Complete silence.

Broken by a sudden snore.

I stifle a laugh as we find Ryen sprawled on the couch, a book spread open and covering his face, his hand trailing on the floor.

“Hey,” Graham says, nudging his brother. Harder when Ryen doesn’t respond. “Hey, sawmill!”

Ryen’s body jerks as he sits and the book falls onto the floor. I scoop it up, trying to mark what I think was his page. _Crime and Punishment._ Not exactly the light reading I’d expect from the wild middle child, but I hold my comments as Ryen glares up at Graham.

“What the fuck, man?”

“Watch your mouth,” Graham says, motioning towards me. I have to bite back the reminder that I’ve heard that word plenty of times from Graham. He’s got a dirty mouth in bed. But thinking of that stokes the barely contained fire inside me and my neck starts to bead with sweat at my hairline.

“Sorry, Savannah,” Ryen mutters.

“Thank you.” Graham’s words only prod Ryen.

“I’m sorry you’re dating a pretentious ass,” he says to me and I have to take Graham’s hand in mine again to stop him from lecturing his brother. It won’t do either of them any good. They’ve been at each other’s throats more often lately, although some of that might just be normal sibling relations with Ryen’s age.

“Where’s Mom and Gramps?” Graham asks instead.

“Wha’ do I look like? Their handlers? Probably both downstairs.”

“Did you know that Peeta left?”

“He’s a big kid now. Doesn’t even need a Pull Up anymore.” Ryen turns on his side, his back to us and Graham mutters that he’s no help, which only earns him a middle finger.

“I’ll be right back,” Graham tells me and then slips down the hall towards his room, leaving me alone with Ryen.

Who starts snoring again almost right away, although not as loud this time. He’s taking up the entire sofa, but there’s more than one couch in the room plus a pair of wingback chairs that I could sit in, but as the snoring continues, I start to feel a little awkward.

Especially since I know that Graham is back in his room changing. And I’m out here with his snoring brother.

I tiptoe down the hall to Graham’s room. I knock softly, but let myself in before he has a chance to answer, shutting the door and leaning back against it. Breathing becomes a chore as we stare at one another. He’s already swapped out his slacks for jeans and holds a casual shirt in his hands, but he’s bare chested for now. I swallow heavily as I lock the door. His eyes follow my motions and then lock with mine.

“Is Ryen…?”

“Fast asleep,” I whisper. “No sign of the rest of your family.”

It’s probably all kinds of wrong, but we’re both moving at the same time towards each other. Graham flings aside the shirt in favor of holding my cheeks. We pause for a second, my hands splayed on his chest. For one unbearable second, I think that he’s going to tell me that we can’t. Not here or not with his brother in the other room.

“I want you so much right now. God it’s been torture the past two weeks,” he whispers and I smile before kissing him.

We fall onto the neatly made bed in a frenzy, my bag making a loud noise as it hits the floor and Graham shushes me. I make a face and he whispers an apology as we tear at my jeans, kicking them down to the foot of the bed as we kiss. I can’t help but giggle a little as we fumble with the sheets and trying to fit on a twin size bed. All while we kiss and paw at one another, reacquainting ourselves with each other’s bodies. His hand caresses up my leg and then pushes between, parting my thighs as I wrap my arms around him.

“I want you, too,” I whisper and he laughs softly.

“I can feel that,” he teases. I sigh and resume kissing him, enjoying the feel of his hand caressing me over my panties, teasing me although I’m probably already wet enough for him. It just feels so good and we’ve not had this luxury in weeks.

But it’s not enough. I tilt my head back and his mouth swirls kisses down my neck. My hand fumbles with his pants and manages the zipper only, then I slide my hand through and start stroking him through his shorts.

“Oh fuck,” he groans and his teeth sink into my shoulder. Our hips and hands grow frantic and uncoordinated as we touch each other. He rolls slightly, pushing me onto my back as he half hovers over me and his fingers push aside my panties. Then they’re filling me and I can’t focus on touching him, instead gasping soft pleas as my hips buck up into his palm and my hands skim and grab at his back and shoulders.

“Your shirt,” Graham says, his teeth tugging at the neckline of it and his lips trying to kiss their way beneath. “Off.”

We’re a mess of hands and limbs and mouths as I squirm and struggle to remove my shirt. As soon as it’s off, before the fabric slips from my fingers onto his floor, Graham’s on top of me, sliding his arm beneath me as his teeth grasp one bra cup and pull it up, baring an already hard, aching nub to him. His lips close around that nipple. Hot bursts flutter down to my core as he nips and swirls his tongue, and his fingers turn the flutters bright and nearly unbearable.

“Oh,” I moan and breath his name out as I arch beneath him, drape my legs over his thighs as I rise into his touch. He hushes me again but keeps sucking on my breast, making silence impossible. I clench my fingers, nails digging into his arm and raking down taut muscle in an attempt to shift my moans into movement. All that does is make Graham pick up the sounds. He slides up my body and takes my mouth in a hot kiss.

“Can you be quiet?” he asks and I’m not sure how to answer as he kisses down the length of my body and peels away my panties. The first swipe of his tongue on my folds has me grasping his pillow and covering my face because I can’t be quiet. Not with the way he’s devouring me, pinning me open on his bed.

I search for distractions from how incredibly naughty this feels, being pinned open and tongued on his childhood bed. Where he probably learned to touch himself and had his first wet dream and just the realization that I’m the first girl he’s had between these sheets, the fulfillment of those dreams, is heady enough to almost make me come. I’m almost ashamed of how turned on it makes me doing this in here with him, knowing his door’s never before been locked to hide away a writhing girl on the verge of coming all over his sheets.

And that’s it, that’s all I can take.

I push at his head and he seems confused as I clamber up and shove him down before stretching out on top of him. He grips my hips and hisses in pleasure, eyes shut tight as I grind on him. I drink his soft sounds and claw at his abs. He manages to remove my bra, and still, having control isn’t enough for me.

He gasps and reaches for me when I sit up, but I bat his hands away and tear at his belt. Then we’re working together to discard his pants and shorts. They join my clothes somewhere on the floor. I can’t keep my hips still, sliding my lips over his hard dick.

“That feels amazing,” he says and grasps at my hips. I’m lost in euphoria and slide too far, taking his tip and then his whole length.

I can’t hold still. Mindless and needy, and Graham’s not any better off in the moment. We writhe beneath the sheets, bodies joined and breaths frantic puffs of steam under dark green cotton. His hands roam and I grab one wrist, pinning to the bed over his head.

“Fuck yes. Take it,” he gasps.

His fingers dig into my ass cheeks, encouraging the pace. The wrist in my grasp flexes as he clenches his hand into a fist. I squeak out a short series of sounds and bite into his pillow to muffle them as my hips jerk over him, grinding into him hard and fast until I shatter and fall limp on top of him. Panting and clenching on him, lost in the relief.

Before I can say a word, he rolls us over, forgetting that we’re on a narrow bed. I squeal as my back meets only air. Graham manages to break our fall. The blankets we take with us help a little, but the movement separates us and our fall still ends with a loud noise. We lay there, staring at one another, breathing hard as we wait to be discovered.

When Ryen doesn’t come to check on us, we’re back in motion. Graham rises to his knees and urges me to roll onto my stomach. My ass brushes his cock as I do and he curses.

“Fuck. That’s why it felt so different.” He stops moving altogether and grips my ass.

“What?” I whine and look back at him. He seems to snap out of a haze and leans over me, his hand fumbling through his nightstand drawer.

“Forgot the condom,” he says and I blink, confused for a moment before it sinks in what he’s saying.

“We’re probably okay. Birth control pill,” I remind him.

“I know, but -- “

Graham stops talking as I push back into him. His fingers dig into my skin again, deep enough for me to feel the bite of his short nails as I whisper how much I need him inside me again. His cock throbs against me. He curses softly as the whole drawer falls out and smacks the floor.

“Fuck it.”

Then he’s groaning and pushing into me. I hum in appreciation and rock back to meet his hips.

“I need to come, Savannah. Need to come so fucking bad,” he whispers and then he starts moving. His words jumble together after that, expressions of love and regret over the distance we’ve endured.

He builds speed as my mouth gapes and I shut my eyes to feel everything. A few hard thrusts have me grasping for something to hold onto. The nightstand leg. It smacks the wall and something crashes off of it onto the ground. I let it go and instead twist one hand in the sheets hanging off his bed and half on top of us.

“I can’t --” he lays flat on top of me then, hips smacking down into me as my eyes water and a flash of release burns through me. My limbs seize and I lay there, helpless as Graham comes to rest with his teeth sunk into my shoulder. I can feel him pulsing inside me and sigh happily as our bodies finally relax, his weight pinning me to the floor. He nuzzles my ear and we both gasp for air.

“I love you,” he whispers and I smile, bringing a hand up to play with his hair and hold him close to me.

“I love you, Graham.”

“Dude what the hell was all that noise? Sounded like a stampede,” Ryen asks through the door, jiggling the knob, and startling us both. But good sex has a way of relaxing the body and the inhibitions.

“Elephants. Didn’t you see them?” Graham says and I have to stifle a giggle.

“Don’t know how you could’ve missed them,” I add and Graham nibbles on my ear.

“Whatever, Gramma. Just make sure you’re both dressed. Mom’s on her way up.”

“Shit,” Graham mutters and stands, pulling me upright, although we wobble and nearly fall right back to the ground with all our tangled blankets and sheets.

We rush to make ourselves and the bedroom presentable. My panties are horribly twisted and damp to the point that I give up on them. Graham loans me a pair of shorts he swears are brand new and I blush as I try to stuff the extra fabric into my jeans. Then I hobble to the bathroom because I’m now dealing with the odd sensation of liquids seeping back out of my body.

Ryen has disappeared and we just make it into the kitchen as Agnes enters the suite and immediately puts us to work helping her fix dinner.

“Where are your brothers?” She asks Graham when the meal is almost ready.

“Peeta’s with the Everdeens and Ryen is…” he trails off with uncertainty and his mother wrinkles her nose.

“Charming as always,” Ryen announces as he saunters into the kitchen. He opens the fridge and plucks an apple from its depths, polishing the skin on his jeans and eyeing me oddly. “Jeez, Savannah. Those campers must be a rough bunch.”

He winks and I glare at him. It took me a long time to earn Agnes’ approval. I’m still not exactly sure how I managed it with all the lies and deceit I’ve been involved with to keep all three of her sons out of trouble. Most of which she’s still in the dark about and I think all of us can agree it’s better that way. I think really I just wore her down with time, but I do not need Ryen destroying all of that with one badly timed innuendo that alerts her to what Graham and I just did in his childhood bedroom.

“You do seem a bit flushed and worn out, Savannah,” Agnes says. “Graham why don’t you get her something to drink and she can rest while you finish helping me.”

Ryen sputters and chokes on his apple. Graham’s ears turn pink and I can tell he’s taking it as a criticism. Like he’s oblivious to my needs or not taking care of me. I’m careful to brush his hand with mine and let him know with my expression that I don’t think he’s worn me out at all. On the contrary, I feel invigorated. But I can’t exactly tell him why or throw him down on his mother’s dining room table and go for round two.

“Yeah Savannah. You look sooooo tired,” Ryen drawls once I’m seated at the table with my glass of orange juice. I’m struggling not to glare at him, but much like Harper and Garrett, I’ve learned that Ryen responds better to people who fight back. I smile at him instead and rest my chin in my hand.

“So how’s Cindy?” I ask quietly and his eyes narrow. “Or is it Jessica this week? Has your mother met either of them yet? Or are you saving that for prom?”

“It’s Maryanne. Jessica wanted me to get a haircut, so we’re basically over,” he says with a cheeky wink, but he drops the teasing and leaves both me and Graham alone for the next few minutes.

Eirik arrives near the end of preparations and helps get the food served onto the table with a smile and a warm greeting for me. After that, it’s a fairly quiet dinner.

As awful as it sounds, that night in his bedroom breaks something loose in us. We’re already so used to short weeks of cramming time together with long stretches in between, but now that we have the luxury of seeing each other every day, we become terribly insatiable. Getting distracted turns into a bad habit for us. Making use of a million places we probably shouldn’t, usually with only half or none of our clothes fully removed. Places that would shock anyone who knows how proper and stuffy Graham can sometimes be.

They forget he flies on his skis, too. Turns out there’s a wild streak under those starched collars. And it’s the sexiest damn thing I’ve ever seen.

After the first set of campers goes home, and I’m busy in the art cabin prepping for the next set, Graham comes to visit me. We wind up locked in the supply closet with my back against shelves on one side, feet braced on the shelves on the other as I cling to his shoulders for dear life and he rocks me to a mind numbing orgasm.

In the bowels of Skadi late one night with the clang and hiss of laundry covering the sounds we make. Locked in his room with hands and mouths and pillows stifling cries of pleasure. Deep in the woods with only the birds and the trees to hear the slap of our bodies.

We’re barely fooling his parents and certainly not fooling Ryen. I should probably feel guilty about defiling every place possible of his childhood home, but I can’t bring myself to feel even a little bit sorry.

Then one night, I use the key Graham gave me to the owner’s suite and let myself in, a little nervous as I settle on the couch and wait for him to finish his shift downstairs. And yes, I’m contemplating where we could possibly sneak off to this time instead of paying attention to the job listing on my screen when someone leans over the back of the couch and clears his throat.

“So, you’ve got the hots for Graham,” Ryen says and I blush under his scrutiny.

“Is there something wrong with that?” I shut my laptop and set it aside, knowing that whatever mischief Ryen’s got up his sleeve, it’ll probably require my full attention to deal with.

“Oh no. Nothing. As long as you’re okay with loving a lie. A complete act.”

“This from the young man who memorized phrases in languages he doesn’t actually speak—“

“You really think Graham’s that much of a romantic? Dude keeps his underwear in tight rolls and color coded.”

I tilt my head and smirk at Ryen, like I don’t already know that.

“Alright, don’t believe me. Take Graham’s word for it,” Ryen says and vaults over the couch to sprawl on the arm opposite me. He clears his throat and opens up a leather bound book. “Let’s see here. I’ll give you the Cliff Notes version. Don’t be clingy. Listen. If you think she’s talking too much, too bad. Keep your mouth shut and keep listening. Flowers. Don’t kiss until the third date at the earliest.”

He lowers the book and smiles at me. I reach out and attempt to snatch the thing from his hands, but he pulls it back and shakes his head.

“Too much tongue… Wonder what that means?” he asks with a lewd waggle of eyebrows. I can feel the heat in my cheeks as I think of the night we first had dinner with his grandfather. The car afterwards. “Aha. I’ve struck a memory. Let’s see what else is in here.”

“That sounds private,” I say as I make another grab for the book. He laughs and clambers onto the back of the couch to look down at me as he flips another page.

“Oh it’s terribly private. Did you know my brother keeps detailed logs of every training session and competition he’s ever had? He claims it’s so he can find patterns and ways to improve, even tried to get me to do the same, but I don't need that. I’m just a genius on skis. But Graham...well he needs a little help, if you get my meaning. Apparently with romance, too. Really it’s unfair that I got all the natural talent _and_ the good looks. Maybe you shoulda let him practice kissing on other girls first. Then he woulda known what he was doing with you.”

He clears his throat again and holds the book up, presumably to read more. I use his preoccupation to get my hands on the cover and shove him off the back of the couch, leaving the book in my hands.

“Whoa!” he shouts and then laughs when he crashes to the floor. “You’ve got too much spunk for him!”

“Graham is not nearly as boring as you think he is. Besides, I actually like being his first kiss thank you very much,” I say primly. I know I shouldn’t look, but I’m curious.

I flip through what appears to be a highly detailed journal in Graham’s handwriting. Dating tips, kissing tips, Cosmo magazine articles tucked between pages. My cheeks heat as I reach a few very private observations that can only be about me. Notations on what seems to work and what doesn’t, both romantically and physically.

But there are also a few beautiful passages about love being steady and true. A slow smolder rather than a flash fire. Or how sometimes love means taking a risk, stepping outside your boundaries and if you’re loved in return, they’ll be there to make it not so frightening.

_I think I’m in love._

He’s penned the words in a corner with a date that would have been sometime during that first season when he was writing to me and calling every Saturday at eight in the morning my time, but before the Olympics at Salt Lake. Now I’m blushing for a completely different reason.

That soon? I think. Did he really believe himself to be in love with me that soon?

Ryen pops over the couch and folds his arms on the back as he grins at me. “Damn. You really were his first kiss? I was just guessing about that.”

The little shit. I don’t even try to hide this glare. He whistles in shock at my expression and climbs back onto the back cushions of the couch.

“Now who’s invading Gramma’s privacy?” Ryen asks, motioning to the open book in my hands. I slam it shut, but before I can respond, the door to the suite opens and Ryen’s laughter dies.

“Oh shit.” He reaches for the book and I snatch it back out of his grasp. He falls on top of me and I shout in protest as he rolls off of me onto the floor then stands abruptly.

“There a reason you’re mauling my girlfriend?” Graham asks, shoving a wide eyed Peeta down the hallway. “Go get washed up for dinner, Peeta.”

“Nuh-uh. No way. I wanna see Ryen get roasted.”

“Scram, Runt!” Ryen shouts, clearly sensing that he’s gone too far.

“It was an accident,” I try to reassure Graham as Peeta slinks slowly down the hall. I rise to stand next to him, placing a hand on his chest. His eyes fixate on the book in my hand and I’m too late hiding it behind my back.

“You hear Dad calling me? I do! See ya!” Ryen says and bolts out the door, slamming it behind him.

“Aw man,” Peeta complains and disappears into his room. Graham is still staring at where I’d just held the book.

“Where did you…?”

“Ryen had it,” I explain and hand it over. Graham curses and takes a step back from me, his head hanging as he palms the book.

“It’s not...not what it looks like,” Graham says, and when his eyes meet mine, there’s fear in them. Actual fear. I rest my hands on his chest and close the distance between us.

“I didn’t really see much of it, but what I did seemed to be...sweet.”

“Can we go talk about this someplace else?” Graham asks, his voice strained and I quickly agree. I didn’t think it was that bad, but whatever he put in this book clearly has Graham agitated.

He leads me downstairs and out into the night. Into the cover of the trees. When he stops, I nearly run into him and he spins around and shoves the book into my hands.

“I went on five dates with five different girls before I met you. Each of them worse than the last. After Penelope, I figured that I needed help. So I...started this,” he waves at the book in my hands. “I thought if I made a...study of things that I could figure it out.”

“Kind of like with your training logs?” I ask and he groans.

“Ryen told you about those too?”

“I can’t say that I’m surprised. You’re a very methodical person, Graham,” I say and tap the spine of his journal on my palm. “So I was meant to be another entry in your study?”

“Worse. At first, I thought of you as the first trial for some of the ideas I’d gathered. I didn’t think -- not until...” He trails off and I focus on the first part of what he said. We can come back to the rest in a minute.

“Gathered from where?” I ask, genuinely curious.

“Some of it from talking to Gramps. He never really talks much about Grandma specifically, but he’s always been a bit of a hopeless romantic and a matchmaker around here.” I chuckle at that and motion for him to continue. “A lot of that--” he waves at the journal “-- at least when I started, came from Sage Everdeen.”

“Really?”

“Yeah, haven’t you noticed? He and Lily are...they’re the kind of couple that have novels and movies and monuments dedicated to them.”

I bite down on my cheek to keep from laughing at his wording. And Ryen thinks Graham’s not a romantic. Ha! He is, maybe he just needs some help expressing it, but he’s still a romantic at heart. “So you asked him for advice on how to romance a girl?”

“Not just him, but his advice to me seemed the best. He said to be honest and brave. That sometimes love is steady and true but sometimes love takes a risk.”

The beautiful passages in the book. Those came from Mr. Everdeen's advice to Graham, I realize and smile as I look at the ground for a minute.

“You aren’t mad, are you?” he asks and I shake my head.

“How could I be?” I wind my arms around his neck and pull him to me. To kiss him, with his romance guidebook behind his head. When he ends the kiss, I can’t stop the puff of laughter from escaping me.

“What?”

“Well it’s just, you and Ryen have more in common than you realize. Both of you made a study out of wooing. It’s just you actually made a scientific study out of it whereas he’s just sort of flying by the seat of his pants.”

“Ha, ha,” Graham says as he wraps me up in his embrace. “I think my study was more successful.”

My heart swells with his words and the book slips from my fingers in favor of holding onto him as he kisses me again.

It’s only much later, as he’s walking me back towards the campgrounds for the night that we mention to book again, although it’s safely back in his hands now.

“This means he searched my room. I had it jammed underneath my nightstand drawer,” Graham mutters.

A memory surfaces and I groan. “No, I think I knocked it out that night in your bedroom. The elephants? Then when we were putting the room back together, I think I kicked something under your bed.” Graham curses.

“Still means he went through my room.” I don’t know what to say to that. “He just makes me so angry sometimes. Yelling at him doesn’t do a thing, though.”

“Of course not,” I say as we stop at the edges of the campground. “Ryen’s the type of person who responds to action. You can’t get angry with him. You have to fight back.”

“Okay but how?”

“I don’t know,” I say with a shrug and stand on my toes to kiss Graham on the lips. “But you’ll think of something.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, I lied. I had to split this chapter in two because it was getting out of hand. The rest of this particular story will be in chapter 13. Rosie might even make an appearance if I can swing it, although it'll be a very young Primrose. *Scrambles outline while grumbling to self*


	13. The Retribution

**_Wyoming - Summer 2005_ **

Halfway through the summer, Graham still hasn’t come up with a way to get back at Ryen. For his part, Ryen wisely lays low for several weeks after the journal incident. However, Peeta and Katniss seem to be following him around more often, just waiting for the comeuppance they’re sure was imminent. When that fails, they keep trying to weasel out of Graham and I what exactly it is that Ryen did wrong.

Eventually, though, things calm down and return to something sort of normal. Ryen continues to collect girls. Peeta loses interest and he and Katniss return to whatever it is that occupies their friendship. Graham and I cool it a little if only because I know he doesn’t want to stir up anymore trouble with his brother until he figures out a way to get Ryen back.

The real irony of our situation is that Graham leaves Wyoming for a few days here and there to train for his jumps. Where does he go? Salt Lake City. While I’m still in Wyoming and dealing with campers. The highlight of one of Graham’s absences for me is trying to keep an eleven year old boy from painting a girl’s hair purple.

“So when did you decide I was no longer a guinea pig?” I tease Graham one night when we’re lounging near one of the fire pits on the grounds of Skadi, my head in his lap, a cheerful blaze keeping us warm and the bugs away in the chill of the evening.

“Probably when you actually called me back to set up that second date,” he says and I chuckle. His cheeks turn pink in the firelight and I reach up to caress his cheek. He’s still embarrassed about his journal keeping, although I’ve been doing my best to make him feel better about it. I’m working against years of teasing from his brothers, though. 

“Hey, you saw me on drugs after I had my wisdom teeth taken out. I’m sure I confessed all kinds of embarrassing things to you then.”

“Not really,” he says. “You were kind of cute.”

“I was loopy and slobbering.”

“You wanted to cuddle all the time. And also gave me a pet name,” Graham says and then coughs oddly. I watch him for a second and then sit up, turning back to face him.

“Teddy Graham,” I say and he scratches at the back of his neck. He’s adorable when he’s flustered.

“You remember?”

“Brianna told me,” I admit.

“Oh,” he says, sounding almost disappointed. “I thought maybe you’d forgotten because of the drugs and that’s why you haven’t called me that since.”

“Wait a second,” I say and shake my head before fixing him with a stare. “You liked that name?”

“I mean...maybe not at first, but then I thought about it.” I laugh and climb into his lap to kiss away his embarrassment. “You can’t call me that in front of anyone, though. Especially not Ryen.”

“Never,” I agree with a laugh and bring his lips back to mine.

The camp counselors start to plan a mid-summer bash to be held during one of our turnovers. Barbeque and swimming with no campers around to see how much their counselors actually break rules, a reprieve for us to cut loose and have fun and hopefully bolster us enough to make it through the rest of summer dealing with the adventures of kids away from their parents. I somehow get sucked into the group planning it and spend more time at the camp than before, which means less time with Graham.

The night before the big bash, when I have no campers and the lodge isn’t booked solid for once, I manage to finish with the other counselors earlier than usual and make my way to the Mellark’s suite. As I enter, the boys are all buzzing with excitement.

“Mom and Dad are taking a trip,” Peeta explains when he and Katniss rush by me and out the door with huge smiles on their faces and I ask what’s got them all excited. “One less set of eyes.”

Katniss rolls hers and nudges him as they wait for the elevator. “Lot of good it does  _ us _ . My Mom’s still here. I swear she’s got a spy ring or something around this place. Can’t get away with anything.”

Graham seems more nervous than excited.

“Ryen will probably throw a party and trash the place,” he says to me once Katniss and Peeta have vanished on their adventure.

“Not with Gramps still here,” I whisper as Agnes enters the room with Ryen behind her, his face fixed in a scowl as she lays out a litany of rules. Graham relaxes a little at my words, but the second Agnes turns her attention to him, he stands a little straighter. She glances at me then fixes him in place with her eyes.

“We’ve already discussed my expectations of you, Graham.” He nods and she busies herself with her purse for a moment. “Now where is Peeta?”

“He and Katniss just left --” the rest of Graham’s words get lost in a strange snarling noise Agnes makes in her throat.

“Can’t even be bothered to say goodbye to his mother.”

“I told him he could go,” Bram Mellark says as he enters the picture, dragging two small suitcases behind him. Agnes purses her lips at her husband.

“Fine. Ryen--”

“I know, I know, try to act like Graham and be a complete bore,” he says and flops on the couch.

“Young man, I will hear about it if you do anything reckless or dumb while we’re gone. You’ve been named to the Olympic team and you will  _ not  _ do anything to jeopardize that,” Agnes says and Ryen sighs.

“We’ll miss our flight, dear,” Bram says as he places a hand on Agnes’ back, guiding her out the door. She throws one last quelling look at Ryen and then leaves. After the door clicks shut, there’s about a minute of silence. The suite is quiet enough for us to hear the bells and whirring of the elevator outside. And then it fades.

“Finally. Freedom,” Ryen vaults off the couch and heads towards the door. Graham steps in front of him to stop him and Ryen sighs dramatically. “Now what, Gramma?”

“Just try not to break anything or get arrested,” Graham mutters.

“Got it,” Ryen gives him a sassy salute and then he’s gone, too. Leaving the suite to Graham and myself.

“Well,” I say and smile at him. “What do you want to do with _ your _ freedom?”

An hour later, we’re sprawled on his bed, his fingers trailing up and down my legs as I play with his hair. Our clothes strewn across the floor from the door to the bed. I release a content sigh and slip into sleep. When I wake, Graham’s clearly shifted us to fit better on the narrow bed. I’m laid out on top of him, only a sheet covering me and his hands warm on my back. I tilt my head and watch him sleep for a moment, and not for the first time, I’m struck with the thought that this could be my future.

I slide along his frame and press a kiss to his lips. It startles him awake and he smiles at me. 

“I could get used to this,” he murmurs, echoing my thoughts.

“So what prompted this trip of theirs?” I ask and he takes a deep breath then rubs the sleep from his eyes.

“Mom says Dad’s turning into a workaholic and never pays any attention to her.”

I snort and then try to smother the unkind expression. It’s not my place to judge their marriage, I just don’t understand why they’re together. They don’t even seem to like one another very much and rarely spend any time together. It’s not surprising that Graham went to the Everdeens for advice on dating rather than his own parents. Even if the Mellarks were madly in love at the start of their relationship, the flame’s been dead awhile. In my opinion, the best thing to result from their relationship is their three sons.

“We should go out tonight,” I say.

“Yeah?”

“There’s gotta be a place in town where we can split an obscenely large steak or get a greasy burger.”

“There’s even a place that claims to be an art museum.”

“Let’s go!” I leap off the bed and gather up my clothes. We’re in luck. The suite appears to still be empty save for us. We shower and dress and then hold hands as we head downstairs.

When we reach the garage, however, Graham comes to a screeching halt.

“Son of a bitch,” he mutters. His language speaks volumes about how angry he is. We stand there, staring at an empty parking spot. “He took my car.”

We remain there as Graham fumes silently and I wrack my brains for the right thing to say.

“That’s it,” he says and pulls his phone out of his pocket. The person he’s called surprises me, and I’m glad he puts it on speaker so I can hear too. “Peeta, where’s Ryen?”

“How should I know?”

“Don’t play dumb with me. I know you either overheard his plans or you know where he’ll be. You’ve been tagging along with him enough to know all the places he’d sneak off to.”

“Why do you wanna know?”

“He took my car.”

“Dude that’s low even for Ryen. Well, what’s it to you?”

“What do you want?”

“An iPod shuffle.”

“What? No way! Those things are almost two hundred bucks! And don’t you already have an iPod?”

“Yeah but this is smaller and lighter. Good for coat pockets, won’t throw off my balance. How badly do you want to nail Ryen to the wall?”

“I thought you wanted to that, too.” There’s a pause and Graham takes the opening. “Look, you aren’t the only person I’m gonna owe to pull this off. How about I drive you and Katniss wherever you want until the season starts as long as I’m not working or training.”

There’s another long pause as Peeta whispers to someone on the other end. Probably Katniss. “Movies on Friday night to start with. Tickets are on you this time.”

“And popcorn,” Katniss adds and I have to hide my smile.

“Popcorn, sodas and candy as well.”

“Alright fine,” Graham concedes.

“And you can’t tag along,” Peeta adds.

“I won’t watch the movie with you. Strictly chauffeur.”

“Hmmmm, I don’t know if it’s enough. I mean, you’re asking me to betray my brother’s trust,” Peeta says and now I’m stifling laughter at his negotiating skills. Graham handles it well, though.

“How about blackmail against Ryen for the rest of his life?”

“Sounds good but how you gonna manage that?”

“If this goes the way I plan it, there will be video evidence of his humiliation.”

“Seriously? We get to see it.”

Graham pauses and then sighs. “Alright, you and Katniss can see the video when I have it.”

“And why you’ve got it out for him. Other than the car. We want the whole story. None of this we’re too young to know excuses.”

This concession comes reluctantly. “Fine, alright I’ll tell you  _ why _ he’s on my shit list too.” Graham grins as Peeta spills Ryen’s most frequent haunts this summer and the fact that he was supposed to be meeting up with a girl tonight, and I’m suddenly a little afraid of Graham. What’s he got up his sleeve, I wonder. Clearly he’s been thinking about this quite a bit. Maybe just waiting for the right opportunity or for Ryen to commit the right transgression. I don’t have to wait long to find out.

“Thanks, Peet. This’ll be worth it, I promise.” He hangs up and then calls someone else. “Hey Kevin, it’s Graham Mellark, up at Skadi.”

“Hey, what’s up? It’s been awhile since I’ve talked to you, man!” This Kevin person’s response is actually enthusiastic and makes me wonder if Graham was better liked in school than he thinks he was.

“Yeah it has been awhile. How’s Michael? Still out at sea?”

That surprises me, but as Kevin talks about Michael’s time in the navy and also updates Graham on several other people whose names I only vaguely recognize, it clues me in to how Graham knows this Kevin person. Must be someone he went to school with around here.

“Listen, I’ve got a favor to ask if you can swing it,” Graham says when the small talk is done. “You guys busy tonight?”

He takes my hand in his and starts walking back towards the lodge. The pieces begin to fall into place as I listen to him speak with Kevin and when he finally gets off the phone, I stare at him in astonishment.

“Too far?” He asks me with a wince and I laugh, shaking my head in disbelief.

“No I think it’s perfect. Just one question...your mom.”

“There won’t be an official record of this, so if Ryen cooperates, she'll never find out. I want him to think twice about pulling this kind of thing in the future but I don’t want him  _ dead _ ,” he says solemnly and leads me back inside and straight to the restaurant. “Unless it’s me strangling him. I know it’s not what you had in mind—“  he says and motions towards the hostess.

“The food here is always great. Besides, I think I’ll still be entertained tonight,” I say as I lean into him.

We enjoy our dinner, quietly talking, both of us a little anxious and maybe excited even. Just after we order dessert, his phone rings. We share a look and then he answers.

“Hello?” He smiles and motions me close to him so we can both listen. It’s Ryen and he sounds pissed off.

“—I tried to tell them but they won’t fucking listen. They said it was reported stolen!”

“Wait,  _ you _ took my car?” Graham asks with false innocence in his voice but Ryen is too worked up to hear it.

“I had a date! I was gonna bring it back later!”

“Huh. Well I didn’t know that. So I reported it stolen.”

“What? Why? You didn’t think to call me? It was so fucking obvious!”

“Like you would have answered if I had called.”

“That’s beside the point! It’s not like you need it. You and Savannah have been fucking each other up one side of Skadi and down the next. So would you please just get your ass out of bed and come bail me out? Or tell this asshole I didn’t steal your car?”

“Sorry Ryen. We just ordered dessert. I don’t want to deprive Savannah of that. And you know how important it is to keep your date satisfied.” I cover my mouth so Ryen doesn’t hear me laugh. “I might stop in town later—“

“Graham don’t do this to me,” Ryen switches tactics to pleading. “This is my one phone call.”

“But it might take me awhile to find a car to drive me there since you stole mine.”

“What? Just use Mom’s! Graham wait!”

“Bye Jailbird,” Graham says and hangs up on Ryen’s furious swearing. He smiles at me and I lower my hand from my mouth.

“Where’s his date?”

“I don’t know. Guess I should have covered that with Kevin.”

“Oh, no wonder he’s so mad,” I say and then our dessert arrives. We eat. The triple layer chocolate cake is delicious served with a side of revenge. And the best is still to come. 

Graham pays the bill and once more takes my hand. After a quick stop upstairs to get the keys to Mrs. Mellark’s car, Graham offers his arm to me.

“Shall we?” I lace my arm through his and we walk regally out to the garage. Agnes’ car smells piney from the air freshener hanging on the rearview mirror. It’s immaculate and as I glance in the back seat, I imagine that Ryen took Graham’s car because his mother would have noticed anything amiss in this car. Plus that air freshener is a real mood killer. 

The drive into town goes quick. As we head into the police station, a cop in uniform stands up and shakes his head in disbelief, a wide smile on his face.

“I gotta say, Mellark… this is the most fun we’ve had on night shift in awhile. Usually it’s just belligerent drunks and kids being dumb. Kinda fun to be in on the prank this time.”

“How’d he take it?”

“Freaked the hell out.” Graham chuckles and then introduces me to Kevin the cop, one of the boys Graham graduated high school with and Michael’s younger brother. After a few minutes of chit chat, Kevin hands him a CD in a case and the extra set of keys to Graham’s car. “For you, before I forget.”

“Thanks, Kevin. We’ll see you and the boys at Skadi tomorrow morning?”

“Looking forward to it,” Kevin says with a grin.

“Me too. Alright, I guess I better bail my brother out.”

“This way,” Kevin says and Graham screws his face into a serious expression as we’re led through a door and down a dingy hallway. There’s two other men in a cell with Ryen. One of them looks drunk and passed out. The other is a burly guy with tattoos all up and down his arms. Ryen’s hair and shirt are disheveled, his face streaked with dirt and fear in his eyes. He springs to his feet and grabs the bars as soon as he sees us.

“Alright Mellark, bail’s been posted,” Kevin barks.

“What took you so long? What kind of dessert did you order?” Ryen practically wails at us.

“The kind you won’t be eating for awhile.”

Burly laughs and so does Kevin as he unlocks the door and motions Ryen out. Graham pinches his ear and Ryen yelps, swatting at Graham’s hand as he drags him outside.

“That fucking hurt!” Ryen yells when we’re in the parking lot and Graham lets him go. Graham tosses me the keys to his mother’s car.

“Get in the car and don’t say a word to me until we get home,” Graham orders. Ryen looks like he’s about to argue but Graham heads that off with the CD from Kevin. “See this? It’s the footage from Kevin’s dashboard camera and a copy of your mugshot. Get in the car and don’t say a word unless it’s to answer a question I ask you or this is the first thing Mom’s gonna watch when she gets home.”

“Asshole,” Ryen mutters but he opens the passenger side door to Graham’s car and flops into the seat.

Graham walks up to me, rubbing his hands up and down my arms as he kisses me sweetly. “You don’t mind driving Mom’s car back?”

“Not at all,” I say. “Do we watch the disk later?”

“Of course we do,” he says with a smile.

As soon as we make it back, Ryen stomps upstairs, only to be brought up short in the hallway, face to face with Eirik, Peeta hanging back to watch the action.

“Dare I ask where the two of you have been tonight?” Eirik asks with a twinkle in his eye.

“Settling our differences,” Graham says and slings an arm over Ryen’s shoulder. Ryen shoves it right back off and mutters that he’s going to shower and bed since he has to be up early for work, and then he locks himself in the bathroom the three boys share.

“Why do I sense there is a very good story to this?” Eirik asks and Graham flushes bright red.

“Um it’s...complicated…”

“Hm, I see. Perhaps one day you’ll be able to tell me. I do enjoy a good story,” Eirik says and motions for us to go inside. It’s late though, and despite how much I want to stay, I know that I shouldn’t.

Graham taking charge and laying down the law for his unruly brother is far too sexy to be decent. Which is why I need to leave before we shatter his mother’s number one rule about me. It’s probably not a good idea for me to stay the night with him right now, given how much potential trouble we got Ryen into tonight.

After making our excuses to Gramps, Graham drives me back, which takes longer than walking with the way the roads are set up, but it’s unwise to be hiking through the woods in the dark. I almost ask him to pull over, but I’m not familiar enough with the area to know where we could find real privacy. Instead, I have to settle for one schorching kiss on the porch of my cabin. Then I’m left trying to sleep with pent up desires. 

In the morning, I’m groggy but dress quickly and hurry right back to the lodge. Graham and I curl up on the sofa with earbuds in and the video playing on his laptop.

Kevin and his partner start with bright spotlights pointed through the car windows and shouting. They play it up, acting as though Ryen’s somehow dangerous. It’s clear that Ryen and his date were in the middle of making out, at the very least, as they’re dragged partially clothed from the car.

“Great. Now I’m gonna need to have my car scrubbed and sell it,” Graham mutters.

“Ryen what’s going on?” The girl keeps asking fearfully as the cops read Ryen his rights and bend him over the trunk to cuff him despite his protests that the car isn’t stolen. As he’s led back to the squad car, she yells one more thing. “Worst date ever, Ryen Mellark!”

“Aw, I feel kind of bad for him now,” I say as the video stops and I look at Graham. He lifts one eyebrow at me and I giggle. “Nah, maybe not.”

“I feel sorry for her.”

“We should ask Peeta if he knows who she was and send her flowers,” I say and Graham laughs.

The mugshot is probably the best piece of evidence, a picture of Ryen trying real hard to look bored holding the placard with his name and information on it.

“You need to hold on to that. Save it for when he’s finds someone he loves. It’s better than naked baby pictures!” I say and Graham leans over to kiss me on the cheek.

“That is a brilliant, vindictive idea. And I love you.”

Then we head to the restaurant, requesting a table in the far corner where we feast on pancakes and the sight of Ryen serving breakfast to the entire Jackson, Wyoming PD night shift.

“How long does he have to do that?” I ask.

“Two months and his paycheck for these shifts pays for their food first. He gets the remainder only if there is any,” Graham tells me. “And he’s confined to Skadi for one month.”

Ryen’s smile is strained as he works and there’s a nasty bruise on his neck.

“Was the bruise there before?” I ask. “I thought you told Kevin not to rough him up too much?”

“That was there last night, but it was red, not purple. I don’t think the police gave him that…” I laugh and hide my glee behind a sausage link. 

“A hickey and a mugshot. Might have been the worst date ever, but it’s certainly unforgettable.”

Ryen doesn’t seem too put out by it, though. It’d take a lot to bring the force of Ryen’s personality to a true halt. After Graham and I finish breakfast, we settle in the lobby, tucked near a fireplace. I’m still job hunting for when after the summer ends and have a few decent leads. I’m nervous about interviews, though, and Graham pretends to be an employer and runs me through a few practice interviews. During a pause when he’s reading through information on one of the places I applied to, I spot Ryen across the lobby, surrounded by a group of teenage boys, all laughing and goofing off. Confinement to Skadi isn’t that much of a punishment, it seems as he jokes around with the boys. He’s got plenty of friends to hang out with right here. His gregarious personality is one that naturally pulls people in.

Then, surprisingly, Ryen seems to tell them to go somewhere ahead of him. As the crowd of boys departs, I spot Primrose Everdeen, Katniss’ younger sister. She’s playing with her braid, her face tear stained and her knee covered with a colorful bandage. I’m just about to go see if she’s okay when Ryen speaks to her for a moment, and then they head back towards the employee areas, a wide smile breaking through on her face.

And that is the trouble with Ryen. He’s an asshole, there’s no denying it. But then he does something like this -- sweet and unselfish to cheer up a young kid. I shake my head and focus back on Graham as the pair disappears into the kitchen.

The next time I spot Prim, she’s still smiling and racing through the lobby, her braids flying behind her and a cinnamon roll clutched in her hands.

As much as I want to, I can’t spend my whole day with Graham. He has to work that afternoon and I have the counselor’s bash to get to. It turns out to be a blast. Sunshine and fun with a group of friends. We’ve already swapped phone numbers and emails, added Facebook and MySpace friends.

We swim and eat, enjoy a campfire well into the evening. My cheeks ache from smiling so much and I take at least a few dozen pictures with my camera, careful to keep it dry. It’s nice to finally kick back with the people I’ve been working hard with all summer and there’s a part of me that considers this wouldn’t be so bad. Maybe I should just give up on finding a job in my degree field and move here. I could at least work the front desk at Skadi or as a waitress in the restaurant. Fill any number of small jobs and then teach arts and crafts at summer camps.

As the sunlight fades, I tuck the thoughts away to talk to Graham about when I get a chance to. Then he’s there with a soft smile on his face, tucking back some of my hair that’s worked its way loose over the course of the day and I don’t want to talk about jobs or fears with him. I want to enjoy the evening.

We make the rounds, Graham listening to crazy camp stories from my coworkers, both of us stealing glances as the desire I felt last night rises back to the surface. There’s still a few weeks left in my time here before I return to Utah, but there’s something about a party like this that makes it feel like the end is already here.

I link my hand with Graham’s and hold tight.

We spend some time by the fire with the others, both of us restless and warm. His hand keeps brushing me like he wants to touch me but won’t in front of all these people. That’s when I suggest a swim in the lake.

We leave shorts and t-shirts on the shore as we slip into the water and I smile at Graham in the moonlight. The lake is fairly shallow, enough to still hold some warmth from the day and for Graham at least to stand even in the deepest parts.

Swimming leads to splashing which somehow leads to Graham capturing my wrist and dragging me squirming into his arms. I’m expecting him to throw me, dunk me, or otherwise continue the play. Instead he kisses me, fast and deep until I’m breathless and wrapped around him in the water.

Maybe he feels it, too. This strange fear that somehow the winter will be different after spending most of a summer close to each other. The distance harder to bear now that we’ve had a taste of living in the same state. I cling to him as we drift into the shadows of one of the docks. I can still hear the laughter and songs from the campfire, but there’s a fair amount of distance between us and them. Enough so that any qualms about making out with an audience are squashed beneath his lips on me and his hands holding me close, the feel of him as I rock my hips into him.

“We shouldn’t. Not here,” he whispers as I tilt my head back and he kisses down my throat.

“But I want to,” I whisper and he groans. It’s a familiar argument he’s giving me. Whispered every time we’ve thrown away caution and made love somewhere we might have been caught this summer.

He lifts me out of the water and sets me on the low hanging dock. Disappointment settles heavy into my gut but then he braces his arms on either side of me and lifts his torso out of the water. His fingers peel back my swimsuit and I gasp as his mouth covers my folds.

“Graham. Oh. Yes. Please,” I shiver at the chill as the night air cools the water on my skin, but warmth from within builds and builds as his mouth makes love to me.

I turn my head and watch the glow of the fire through the trees, hoping no one heads our way. My toes curl in the water and I lean back to leverage myself, grinding my lips against his and choking back my moans. My fingers scrape through his wet hair and grab tight to the back of his neck as my back arches and I tense, poised to fly into the night.

“Oh,” I groan softly and my body relaxes, bathed in moonbeams and clinging drops of lake water and wonderful release. Soft pulses of it linger as he continues to lick at me and when I finally glance back down at him, he looks so serious and almost sad.

Bracing my hands on his shoulders, I join him in the water and yank on his swim trunks. He pushes me back against one of the thick supports, pinning me to it and I wrap my legs around him as I take his length. I bury my face in his shoulder at the pinch and slight burn. He starts rocking and murmuring to me before I can comment on it and then his mouth is on mine, his quiet moans caressing over my tongue as we rock together, sending quick little waves of water outwards.

While it’s sensual, making love with the water and our skin caressing each other, his thrusts don’t please me the way they normally would. The water robbing that from me. But he took care of me first so I cling to him and breathe easier when he comes with a deep groan and a soft roll of his hips.

Our lips part and remain parted as I toy with the hair at the nape of his neck and smile. “Good?”

“Better than good,” he whispers as he slides from me. We fix our bathing suits but remain in the water a little longer, clinging to one another and listening to the sounds of the night.

“Will this make an entry in your journal?” I ask quietly and he splashes me as I laugh and squirm out of his hold.

But just like Ryen paid for his reckless adventures, I wake up the next morning paying for mine too. My ear aches, and I wind up in the camp nurse’s cabin only to be directed into town for antibiotics for something called swimmer’s ear, an ear infection caused by water getting trapped. News to me. It could be worse, though. Just a day or two of mild pain is not enough to tarnish my memories of our night at the lake. It’s what keeps me smiling through a rough start to the next camp and drifting in pleasant dreams for weeks, a happy sleep that’s deeper than should be allowed on a rickety cot and a lumpy pillow. Eventually, I’ll have to return to Utah, and Graham to his season. There’s still so many things we need to figure out, and yet I can’t seem to worry about them. We’ve made it this far together, after all.


	14. The Plot Twist

**_Salt Lake City - September 2005_ **

I wrap the plastic stick in toilet paper. Around and around again. I stuff it deep into the trash can and rise, moving robotically to the sink. I wash my hands. Splash my face with water and hide inside the towel as I dry it. The emotions inside me run a dizzying gamut in seconds. Inseparable and terrifying, the way a kaleidoscope swirls colors and shapes together.

It’s the same thing every time I’ve taken one of these tests with the same results. This test hasn’t told me anything new. I’ve known for a few weeks. The doctor confirmed two days ago. I've been handed a date and packets of information, like handing out instructions on the mechanics of pregnancy and giving birth will prepare for the plot twist life just threw me. And still I had to check one more time today, just to be sure.

My face dried, I lower the towel and stare at my red eyes. Graham is supposed to be here in two hours to pick me up for our date. I’ve already delayed telling him with one excuse after another.

He’s busy training. He’s still working on his degree. I didn’t want to tell him over the phone. His season looms and telling him would be a distraction from that. He has Torino, his second Olympics, in just five months. He’s favored to medal this time. I can’t ruin that for him. I could just deal with this on my own. But how? How could I do that to Graham? Knowing how much he wants to have a family one day. Whichever way I go, it could hurt him.

I shake my head and hang up the towel. Open the door and jump back. Harper stares at me, brow furrowed.

“Are you...alright, Sav?” 

“Fine. Great,” I say and force a smile as I sneak by him.

“Have you been…crying?”

“No, of course not,” I insist. “I’m just gonna go for a drive.”

He seems reluctant to let me go, which only serves to get me out the door faster.

“Isn’t Graham supposed to be here soon?” Brianna shouts after me as I run out the door. I crank my bike and slip on my helmet, gone in a flash.

I don’t even notice the scenery as I drive out of the city into the mountains. I have no destination in mind except away. Away from my mother and the plastic sticks accumulating in our trash barrel. 

I don’t know what to do. We were so careful. Most of the time. Tears slip out as I think of all the times we weren’t. How I thought of those as so romantic at the time, romantic in their spontaneity for someone like Graham to forget the caution and the rules and succumb to passion. Now I’m going to pay the price.

What will he say? I shudder with fear as I realize that I don’t know. The birth control I switched to back in January should have been more effective, and safer for me. Instead it only caused a delay in me knowing. Scarcer periods meant that I continued to believe we were safe all through the summer. Instead, I’ve been carrying our baby for two months and didn’t even know. We’ve talked about getting married, starting a family, growing old together, but only  as an abstract sort of future. There were things we wanted to do first. Now it doesn’t matter. The future is here.

What will my mother say?

I have a pretty good idea what she’ll say. Which is why I haven’t told her yet. Because there was a brief moment after the first test came back positive when I considered dealing with it and not telling anyone. But the physical pain that caused me provided my answer to that option. I can’t do that. And even if I could, the guilt and the lies involved in not telling Graham would surely destroy us eventually.

I can’t ask him to give up his dreams. I can’t turn him into my father. I won’t ask him to choose. And I don’t want an abortion. Which leaves me with one real option. I’ve been over and over it in my head since I first found out, and now I have to do something about it.

I won’t tell Graham on a date, and I won’t do what I need to on a dinner date either. This needs to be done in private. As if my body senses my decision, my bike carries me to the place where Graham is staying this time.

I’m still on autopilot as I park and walk inside. I take the stairs in a pathetic attempt to avoid the inevitable and give me time finalize what I’m going to say to him. How do I break up with someone I love this much? How do I end four years and more of joy? The climb and thin air makes the nausea worse and I have to stand still once I reach the right floor, holding my hand over my mouth as I take a few deep breaths. I almost wish it’d been mono like I first thought it was. Then I wouldn’t have to do this. 

When I get my bearings again, I walk the hall and knock softly on his door. He’s not expecting me, and when he opens the door, I can see it in the way he’s dressed. His collar’s loose. There’s no jacket, no tie, no shoes. His eyes sweep over my ripped jeans and boots, my leather jacket and paint splattered shirt beneath.

But while he’s taking in my appearance, I’m taking in his, and I crumble. 

“Hey,” he says, and before he can ask me what’s wrong, I take three steps and bury my face in his chest, gripping his shirt as I cry.

Graham holds me, waits for me to get some kind of control before asking. “What’s wrong? Savannah, you’re scaring me. I thought I was picking you up tonight.”

“I don’t think it’s a good night for us to go out,” I say in a pathetic attempt to do it anyways when I finally manage to stop bawling into his shirt. He steps back, motions for me to come inside and shuts the door behind me. He runs a hand through his hair and I search for courage in his opened, half empty luggage. The pile of skis laid upon the low dresser, still in their travel cases. There’s so much that he stands to lose, and I’m lost all over again. My plan to set him free isn’t going well at all. I set my helmet next to his skis, my throat burning with fresh, unshed tears.

“Do you mean just tonight?” he asks softly. I shake my head and can’t bear to face him as he mutters something I can’t understand before speaking up. “Are you...are you breaking up with me?”

“I don’t know,” I say and fold my hands together in a desperate attempt to regroup and try again. “I don’t know what to do.”

He sets his hands on my shoulders and I squeeze my eyes shut so he won’t see the truth in them when he turns me around to face him. He pulls me back into his arms and murmurs to me.

“Whatever it is, we can figure it out. We’ve made long distance work for four years; we can make whatever this is work too. Was it me? Something I did? Or didn’t do?” With each question, his voice grows more agitated. I shake my head, too busy fighting back another wave of tears to answer him. “I can...I can be better. Just tell me what it is.”

And that stupid phrase of his every time he thinks he’s messing up our relationship seals it. I can’t break up with him or lie to him any easier than I could terminate this pregnancy.

“I’m pregnant.”

The words erupt from my mouth on a broken sob, muffled against his chest. I’m stunned at how fast his body goes completely rigid. I wait for accusations or doubt, but he just stands there with his arms around me until I can’t bear the silence any longer and instead vomit more words.

“I know we were usually careful but there were a few times we weren’t and that ear infection I had after the night at the lake...I don’t know exactly when it happened…and sometimes this just happens anyways and I’m so sorry Graham. I don’t expect anything out of you. I would never ask you to move here like this or give up skiing or your dreams. I just...I thought it’d be easier to break up with you and deal with it on my own but then when I saw you just now—“

“Deal with it how?” he asks and steps back away from me, searches my eyes.

“Not like that,” I whisper. “I couldn’t. I already know that. But I’m scared, Graham.”

I can see fear in his eyes, too. I wipe tears from my cheeks and curse my eyes for spilling more. I’ve cried so much the past few days, I didn’t think I had this much blubbering left in me.

Then his hands slide down my arms as he drops to one knee in front of me, his eyes holding steady on mine. He takes both my hands in his. The blood freezes in my veins.

“Savannah—“

“No!” I blurt the word out and see the instant hurt in his eyes. I shake my head and yank my hands out of his. “No. Don’t you dare ask me to marry you right now.”

“Why not?” he says, still on his knees.

“Because I won’t marry you just because I’m pregnant! That’s what...I won’t turn us into our parents!”

“So the only reason you’re saying ‘no’ is because you think I’m asking because it’s what I’d be expected to do?”

“Aren’t you?” He could have asked me anytime in the past two years and I would have said ‘yes.’ Maybe even the past three. But he didn’t. It’s part of why I thought breaking up with him would be my best option. Necessity and fear feeding doubt.

I stare as he stands up and strides over to his open suitcase. He flips out a few shirts and then picks up a small satin pouch. When he returns to me, he holds my hand palm up and shakes something small and sparkly out of the pouch into my grasp.

“Oh my god,” I mutter. A single solitaire diamond on a plain gold band rests in the middle of my palm. Simple, traditional, elegant. Exactly what I’d expect from him.

“I’ve been carrying that around for almost a year.”

“Graham,” I say and shake my head. “I don’t know what to say.”

“You don’t...have to answer right now,” he says and rests his hand over mine, the ring clasped between us. “If you want time to think about it, I can wait. I just want you to know that I’m serious about this and it’s not just some spur of the moment thing.”

I nod and he removes his hand, taking the ring with him. “I still want to take you out. Maybe it’ll help get your mind off things,” he whispers. I place both hands on his cheeks to kiss him, unable to do anything else in this moment.

“Okay. I think I’d like that.”

We wind up at a more casual place than planned, eating pizza and clasping our own hands under the table. So much space between us. I’m grateful for the loud noise in this place. We’re both too lost in our thoughts to be much for conversation at first. We barely manage more than a few sentences until after they’ve taken our order and brought back our drinks.

“It’s not a bad place, right?” he asks as he smooths over the checkered tablecloth.

“Not at all. And check out the flower arrangements,” I say and wave towards the skinny vase with two wilting carnations in it. “They’re lovely but they’re missing something. What is it?”

“A blender?” He suggests and I smile at him, almost laugh. His hand slides across the table and I thread my fingers through his. With our hands clasped together, the tension that the night started with begins to finally melt away.

Until we’re in the car and faced with a decision.

“What did you want to do?” He asks the question and my expression must give away my thoughts. “Not about...the baby. I meant right now.”

The word hangs in the air between us. The baby. Our baby. I grip the edges of my seat to keep from placing my hands over my stomach. Protective.

“I don’t want to go home just yet,” I whisper and he nods, driving us back to his hotel where, instead of climbing on my bike and leaving, we head upstairs to his room. I call my house and breathe easier when Brianna answers.

“I won’t be home tonight,” I tell her.

“Okay. Is everything alright?” I glance back at Graham as he hangs up both of our jackets and then sits to remove his shoes. “Savannah? We’re all a little worried about you.”

“Everything’s going to be fine,” I tell her. I hang up and set my phone down as Graham wraps his arms around me from behind.

“It’s not...a complete disaster, right? I mean, we’ve talked about it,” he says and I nod.

“But not this soon.”

“How long have you known?” he asks and I lean into him with my eyes closed, hoping I don’t drive him away with my answer.

“I saw the doctor two days ago, but the first positive test at home was maybe two weeks ago? I’m not sure, I’ve kind of been living in a daze.”

I explain to him why I didn’t tell him over the phone, that I thought breaking up with him was the best option. Although now that I think about it, if I’d told him over the phone then maybe I would have been able to break up with him instead of crumbling into his arms. I turn in his embrace and rest one palm on his cheek. The longer I’m with him tonight, the more certain I become that we really will be okay. Maybe the distance was clouding my perception of things. Graham bends towards me and rests his forehead on mine.

“I’m glad you didn’t. You mean everything to me. Both of you do,” he tells me.

And strangely, we’re both smiling as he brings his lips down to kiss me. The smiles fade as we discard clothing and fall onto the bed, replaced by a desperate kind of heat. Not desperate for the end or the peak, but for a closeness and understanding. It’s the sight of our twined fingers on the sheets, the feel of our  twisted together bodies moving in sync, the realization of what my heart’s answer to his question is already, the knowledge that wherever we go from here, we do it together, that sends me spiralling into soft release.

After, we lay there with heaving chests, Graham’s mouth hot and gentle on my body.

I keep expecting the kisses to start feeling like a good-bye. For him to realize the gravity of our future together. Instead, he offers a shower and helps me into the bathroom. I’m silent as we wash each other, hold each other. The silence carries enough gravitas for the moment.

I dry off and then stare at myself in the mirror, my wet hair pulled back in a ponytail and my eyes calm and tear free as I button up Graham’s dress shirt over my body. The one he wore with no tie to dinner tonight. It’s far too big on me, and yet it’s perfect. I catch his scent in the threads and hug myself.

Still, I can’t quite bring myself to look at him as I slide under the covers and settle on the pillow. Not until he joins me and traces a finger over my cheek.

“Graham, I’m so sorry.”

“Why?” The simple question draws my gaze up to his and my vision blurs with more tears.

“Because this isn’t how you planned your life at all.”

“No. Maybe it wasn’t. But it’s not how you planned yours either.  And maybe I’m crazy, but the first thing I felt when you told me was...excited.”

“Really?” I ask, voice wavering with held back tears.

“Really. I want a family with you. Maybe this is earlier than either of us planned, but it’s everything I want. We can do it, right? You and me.” I bite my lip and imagine it. A life with him. Maybe a handful of kids. “I’m not sure I’ve got enough time to move here before the season starts. And maybe I shouldn’t even compete this year with—“

“No,” I say and shake my head emphatically. 

“There are alternates who can go in my place.”

“No,” I repeat. I spill out the rest then. My entire thought process and range of fears. Why I considered breaking things off as the best option with the Olympics approaching and how close my due date is to them. March 15th. Closing ceremonies on February 26th, although Graham will be done with his events well before that. But even if he made it home from the Olympics in time for the baby, it’d cost him part of his regular season. That doesn’t end until March 19th. 

“You’re going. We’ll be fine and there’s no way I’m asking you to miss out on Torino for us.”

“You’re sure?”

“I’m sure. I don’t want the baby and me to be your one big regret in life.”

“You could never be,” he whispers with a soft smile. “I’ll cut my season short, come home after the Olympics.”

“Then just make sure you bring a medal home with you.” I find his hand and twine our fingers together.

“You mean...”

I can’t answer because I’m crying again, but unlike the past two weeks, there’s no overwhelming ache in my chest or fear pounding in my blood. Maybe there’s a little bit of those, but it’s a joyful ache and the fear fades to insignificance as I nod and Graham scrambles from the bed, once more digging the ring out from his suitcase and then pulling me up onto my feet with him.

“Graham! What are you--?” I gasp but he’s down on one knee again. 

“I’m doing this properly. Savannah Everett...I forgot everything I was going to say to you,” he cringes and I can’t help the small squeaking laugh from escaping my throat. 

“I think it was something terribly cheesy about how much I love you and how I’ve known since our second date that I wanted to spend the rest of my life figuring out what the heck all those rectangles meant, but only if it meant I could stand beside you for the rest of my life. I can...I’m not asking because,” he swallows and I can feel faint trembling in his fingers. For some reason, his fear doesn’t scare me. It calms me. “I…I’ve been...carrying this ring around for a year, too afraid to ask you and be told it’s still too soon. I'm not asking because you’re pregnant. I’m asking sooner because you’re pregnant, yes. This isn’t...this isn’t at all how I planned on asking you. You deserve so much better. I...I’m making a mess of this but I just want you to know... I would have asked you anyways. Maybe it’s not the  _ righ _ t time to ask you, but to me, it’ll never be the  _ wrong _ time. I love you, Savannah, and pregnant or not pregnant, I want to marry you. If you’ll have me.”

I can’t help but laugh through my tears as he kneels there and stumbles through his sweet words. I draw my legs together as the chill hits my bare skin and I shake my head not in answer but disbelief because as he gazes up at me with love and excitement tempered with a little fear in his eyes, I know he’s telling the truth. This is nothing like the proposal he would have planned, it’s not  _ proper  _ at all. Not just because of the stumbling, forgotten words or the baby already growing inside me. He’s in his underwear and a plain t-shirt. I’m in my panties and his dress shirt he wore to dinner. And I couldn’t care less about our appearance because I can see in his eyes that he means every single word.

“Will you marry me?”

“Yes!” I say and the tears won’t stop as he slides the ring on my finger, his hands shaking. When he stands in front of me, I wind my arms around his neck and bury my tear stained face in his chest. He holds me like that and we sway. We stand there and rock each other gently for longer than I can measure.

I’m startled when he pulls back and drops to his knees again, this time grasping my hips and pressing his forehead to my sternum.

“Hey there, little one. I’m your dad, and I love you so much.” I weave my fingers through his hair as he whispers to our child and peppers soft kisses on my belly. 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ready or not, here we go...


	15. The Wedding

**_Wyoming - October 2005_ **

My life becomes a string of dialogue and questions played at high speed. A game of emotional tug-of-war.

Graham asks me to schedule my first ultrasound so he can be there. He holds my hand through the whole process and smiles like a loon at the small blob on the screen that is our baby. His joy mirrors my own. I have no name, no identity, no clue what the future holds for our child, but I’m already in love. I can’t wait to meet them. To hold them. To shower them with every ounce of love I have. Six months seems such a long time to wait for that, despite some of the bumps I know are in the road ahead. How could they not be? 

My mother is difficult enough to explain things to, but then we have to face Graham’s mother. I suggest we not even tell her. Just get married and then tell everyone that I’m pregnant afterwards, but Graham points out that after four years of being together, throwing a wedding in a matter of weeks will look suspicious. So we go with the truth as our best option, and I return to Skadi.

“And you plan to live where?” Mrs. Mellark asks after we tell her that we’re engaged and plan to be married before he leaves for the season. Graham’s hand squeezes mine.

“In Utah,” he says. She shakes her head at us.

“Your training. You train here. Your family is here.”

“I want Savannah to have support close to her while I’m gone during the season.”

“We can look after her here.”

“Savannah’s family is in Salt Lake,” Graham reminds her. 

I can see the twitch in Eirik’s lips when Graham’s words hit home. I know Graham doesn’t mean it like that, only because we’ve talked about it. Graham and I talked through every argument and obstacle our mothers might try to throw in our way. He only means that I’m more comfortable relying on my mother and my siblings than I am on his family. He sat down with a calendar and the schedules he and his brothers and parents will be keeping this year with all of their competitions and everything that leads up to the Olympics. Eirik and Bram are the only two who will spend any kind of significant time here during the winter, and even then, they both have jobs that keep them busy. Before I can say that, Graham moves on to address his mother’s other concerns.

“Everything I do here to train can be done there as well, some of it more easily. They’ve got jump training that we don’t have here. I won’t have to travel as often. It makes more sense for me to move there than to uproot Savannah. I can work at Sundance or Park City or one of the others easily until I graduate and find something in the finance field. There’s plenty of opportunities for me with that in Salt Lake.”

“We could build a jump here for you,” Eirik offers and now it’s Graham shaking his head.

“Gramps, then you’d be competing with Salt Lake and Colorado for traffic. The half-pipe you put in for Peeta is one thing. There’s enough of a demand for that to support several locations. Adding a jump ramp here for me isn’t a sound investment.”

“He’s not even done with his degree and already he’s judging what a sound investment is for you,” Agnes spits and Eirik sighs with a shake of his head.

“But he is correct. Forgive your mother and aging grandfather for wanting to keep the family close. You must do what is best for the two of you. When will you move?”

“After the Olympics,” Graham says. “Savannah’s going to find a place for us to live in the coming months and then I’ll move in after I get back.”

“How exactly are you going to afford this? Have you thought any of this through?” I squeeze Graham’s hand this time as his mother keeps pelting arguments at us.

“I’ve got a fair amount saved up,” Graham says. “Savannah has her jobs and she’s still looking for something in her field.

“I just had a few promising interviews. Any one of those jobs could pay enough to support us both.” Agnes purses her lips and glares at me. Clearly that was the wrong thing to say.

“This just seems very reckless and out of character for you, Graham. Are you sure it’s even your child?”

The insinuation smacks me across the face and I make a small noise of shock. It takes a few more seconds of silence before Graham realizes what she’s said, but when he does, he squeezes my hand again and leans towards her, almost menacingly.

“I am.”

His unequivocal defense of me helps soften the blow of her implication. That I could ever cheat on Graham.

“Really Agnes. I realize this is not the ideal situation, but there is no need for that,” Eirik chimes in.

“Mom. I’m marrying Savannah by the end of the month. We’re going to have a baby. And we’re happy about it. Please try to be happy for us.”

“You don’t know what you’re getting into,” she scoffs and shakes her head, walks away from us and stares into the empty fireplace in the great room of the suite of rooms where Graham grew up.

“Perhaps not entirely, but they are both adults and will adjust. We should talk to Nicholas about wedding details. This is a happy occasion,” Eirik says with a broad smile and a hug for me. Then he motions for Graham and I to follow him. The raging glare Agnes sends my way as we leave the suite scares me a little.

I’m mindless through the discussions of haste. Flowers will be difficult and we’ll just have to take what we can get on short notice, the cake and catering fairly simple. Since the resort is in the lull between summer and the deep snows needed for ski traffic, finding rooms for my family and handful of friends who will make the trip up from Utah for our wedding will be easy. It’s already taken care of, Eirik assures me with a warm embrace when I think to ask.

Menu discussions with Bram and then questions about tuxedos and dresses. I’m already petite, which complicates the dress shopping and then the lady in the shop asks all kinds of prying questions when I tell her that I won’t be wearing heels. My head is pounding by the time we’re done each day. I curl up on the bed in the room assigned to me and hide my expression in the comforter.

“Maybe we should just go to the courthouse,” I say and Graham sits next to me, pulling my limp form into his arms. “She hates me now.”

“She doesn’t hate you.”

“She does. I’m taking away her precious son or something, I don’t know. You didn’t see the way she looked at me. Here I thought I was a pretty supportive girlfriend when it comes to your skiing. Why’s she think that’s going to change once we get married?”

“You have been very supportive. She’s just worried that we’re too young to be starting a family or that I’ll wind up like her and have a lot of regrets.”

“Pah! How’s that gonna happen? I’m the one pregnant, not you! If anyone’s got reason to be worried or have regrets, it’s me!” I backtrack at the flash of hurt in his eyes and rest my palms on his cheeks. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean that. I didn’t. I’m just so...so…stressed out! Let’s run away to Vegas.”

“You really want that?”

I sigh and curl into him. His arms go around me and I close my eyes. “I suppose not.”

“I want you to have the nice wedding that you deserve. As best we can manage on short notice at least,” he whispers.

“How much of it is  _ you _ want the nice wedding so it doesn’t look like we’re only getting married because you knocked me up? I would have been fine waiting to get married until after the season.”

“Savannah--”

“God is she poison or something?” I stand up and start pacing. “I didn’t have these fears and doubts until she started nitpicking everything about our relationship!”

“She’s done that from day one. And you  _ were _ going to dump me,” Graham reminds me and I halt in my pacing.

“Okay, touché, but still!”

“I know she’s not easy to deal with, but she’s still my mother.”

“I know. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t talk about her like that.” I stop my pacing and pick at the edges of my sleeve.

“It’s not really the wedding you wanted, is it?” Graham asks. I sigh and collapse on the bed, leaning into his side.

“No, not really. But,” I say and swing my legs over his. “As long as you’re waiting for me at the altar, I’ll take whatever wedding I can get.” He smiles and nods, hands rubbing warmth into my arms.

“Me too. Maybe...Savannah maybe I should stay home this year.”

“Absolutely not,” I say firmly.

“Still not changing your mind about that?”

“If I think she hates me now, imagine what she’d be like if you announced that you’re skipping the season and the Olympics.”

“I haven’t even told her that I’m cutting it short yet,” he admits and I groan.

“See? I’m already the floozy trapping her precious boy in matrimony against his will. Besides, if you sit this one out, you  _ will  _ have those regrets one day. The last thing I need is to also be the trollop that ruins your Olympic hopes.”

“Trollop? Floozy?” he asks and moves in on me with a grin. I squeak as his hand cups my ass and he flips me flat on the bed. “I don’t believe you’re a trollop. Maybe you should show me why you’re calling yourself one.”

I laugh and let him distract me from my worries. Afterwards, he kisses my nose and smiles at me. “You’re not a trollop. You’re the love of my life. And even if you were a trollop, we’ll just have to be shameless together. It did kinda take both of us to get you pregnant, after all.”

“So arrogant,” I tease and he kisses me again.

His certainty helps in the next few days. They fly by in a whirlwind of preparations and both of our mothers making everyone else uncomfortable with thinly veiled remarks about how Graham and I are ruining each other’s lives. The only thing they seem able to agree on is that Graham and I shouldn’t get married at all. It doesn’t help that the first time my family meets his is during the build up to what amounts to a shotgun wedding. Except I feel like Graham and I are the ones holding the shotguns and telling everyone else to let us get married or we’ll shoot. 

Part of me knows both of our mothers are trying to protect their own, or that their words are more of a reflection on their own lives, not ours, but it only serves to stress me out further and question if we’ve made the right choices, which is really absurd. Graham and I have been together for years at this point, and yet our mothers’ simmering animosity towards one another and us has me doubting what we have. What we could have.

And then before I can take a deep breath, I find myself standing in a room and staring in another mirror. This time dressed in a white satin dress and a lace veil that trails down my back to the floor. Clutching a bouquet of white flowers that I don’t even know the name of, held together with pale blue satin ribbons. It’s a far cry from the night he asked me to do this. That girl was relaxed and sure in Graham’s shirt and her panties compared to the one I see now all dressed up like a bride. I want to get back to being that other girl.

“I’m going to puke.”

“Here’s the upchuck bucket,” Brianna says, snatching my bouquet and shoving the bucket into my hands. My stomach turns as I get a whiff of the lingering stench from this morning when I used this because I couldn’t make it to the ladies’ room in time.

“Oh god not helping,” I moan and shove it away from my face.

“Sorry.”

“No it’s fine,” I say and Brianna pats my shoulder awkwardly.

“Stefan should be back with the Triscuits soon.” There’s a steady knock on the door just then. “Go away unless you have ovaries or Triscuits.”

The door cracks open and a hand holding the coveted box of crackers slides through. “Am I cleared to enter?” Stefan asks as he shakes the box.

“Yes!” I shout and grab at the box. He snatches it back as he walks through and glares at me as he shuts the door, looking handsome in his rented tuxedo.

“No crumbs on wedding dresses.”

I whine but Stefan produces a sheet that he ties around my neck to protect my dress and then he feeds me the crackers one by one.

“I am not a toddler.”

“Then stop scowling at me like one,” Stefan says and sticks his tongue out at me. “Here comes the cracker. Open wide for the cracker.”

“You’re the first person I’m calling in a panic when the baby’s collicky.” He laughs and I obediently eat the cracker. As I chew, he sobers.

“Sav...are you happy?”

“I will be once this whole wedding mess is over,” I say. Or at least that’s what I mean to say. It comes out sounding weird with my mouth full of half-chewed Triscuit. But they’re one of the few things I’ve been able to eat without feeling nauseous.

“It’s been pretty stressful, huh?” Stefan asks and feeds me another Triscuit.

“If I have another life to live, I’m convincing Graham to elope,” I say when I swallow that one. Stefan and Brianna laugh and I eat Triscuits until the combined “I’m so nauseous I can’t eat and now I’m so hungry because I haven’t eaten all day that the hunger is making me even more nauseous” nausea finally passes.

Stefan removes my bib and Brianna fusses over my train and my veil and my lipstick. 

“Knock knock!” A cheerful woman’s voice says at the door with the accompanying knock.

“Come in!” Brianna invites and Lily Everdeen enters the room with Prim next to her and Katniss behind, both in pretty dresses and their hair in fancy braids.

“Oh my! Savannah, you are stunning,” Lily says with a smile and sets both hands on my shoulders. “Your mother got caught up talking with some of the guests but I wanted to see if you needed anything before the ceremony.”

“I’m okay, thank you,” I say, fighting back the tears welling up in my eyes because the way she’s looking at me is how I always imagined my own mother looking at me on my wedding day. But my mother can barely stand to look at me right now. Because I’m pregnant. All she sees when she looks at me right now are her own mistakes. I sniffle and motion towards my best friend, who’s been a saint the past few weeks. “Stefan brought me Triscuits.”

“Good man. Three months?” Lily murmurs.

“Yes. Almost four.” She places a hand on my neck and smiles softly.

“Usually the nausea only lasts the first trimester. It should pass soon. You feel a bit warm. How about I get you a glass of water and cold compress for your neck?”

“I — okay,” I say. She pats my cheek and tells me she’ll be right back. Her daughters stay with me, Katniss sits at the window and twirls the chord of the hummingbird necklace she wears all the time now around her fingers while Prim excitedly tells me about how beautiful the ballroom looks all spruced up for the reception and about the dresses some of the guests are wearing.

“Your dress is lovely,” I tell her and she spins with a girlish giggle. Then she smiles slyly.

“I saw Graham in his tuxedo. He looks  _ very  _ handsome.” I smile at her dreamy eyes. “All three of them look handsome, right Katniss?”

“I guess so.”

“It’s so romantic,” Prim sighs and twirls for a second.

“What is?” Katniss asks.

“Weddings are always romantic,” Prim informs her with a superior tone before slipping back into a dreamy one. “Oh I hope someone asks me to dance.” 

Katniss makes a face at me, suggesting annoyance at her little sister’s worldly attitude. Or maybe she knows why this particular wedding is actually a bit rushed. Either way, she’s not making me feel judged, so I give her a knowing wink that makes her smile. 

“Here we go,” Lily says as she sweeps back inside. She asks Brianna to lift my veil and hair then places a cold cloth on my neck. The relief trickles down my spine and I sigh. “Better?”

“Yes, thank you.” Then she tucks several tissues into my bouquet, hidden but easily accessible for me to use during the ceremony.

“You do look truly lovely,” she murmurs as I sip my water.

“Even though I feel like I’m going to lose my lunch?”

“Especially because of that,” Lily says with a chuckle and turns me to face the mirror. “But what do you think?”

“I think she needs a necklace,” Katniss says, not unkindly. I didn’t wear one because I was afraid of it getting in the way if I had another round of morning sickness.

“You’re right, Katniss. A necklace would be just the thing,” Lily says and examines me. “Do you have something old?”

“My earrings,” I tell her and tilt my head to show her. “They were my grandma’s.”

“They’re gorgeous,” she says and everyone admires my earrings for a moment. “Something new?”

“The dress and shoes! And her bouquet ribbon is blue!” Brianna says and Lily nods. My garter is blue too but I’m not telling my sister that with Prim and Katniss in the room.

“How about something borrowed?”

Lily’s question meets silence. Then she’s unclasping the pendant of turquoise from around her neck and hanging it on mine.

“I know it doesn’t quite match your look, but I wore this when I married Sage. Marrying him was one of the best decisions I’ve ever made, and I would be honored if you wore it today. Maybe wearing this will bring you and Graham a little luck.”

“It’s — I couldn’t,” I try to argue but really I’m going to cry all over again as the cool stone rests in the hollow of my throat.

“Of course you can,” Lily says and then she’s hugging me and I'm in serious danger of destroying my makeup with the tears that are threatening. I manage to choke out a thank you and return her hug without losing it. As she pulls back and gathers her daughters to leave and take their seats for the ceremony, I barely keep from begging her to stay.

Because this moment with Lily Everdeen is the first time today that I’ve felt like a real bride and happy about it.

But I don’t have time to cry. She’s no sooner gone than I’m being told it’s time.

We make our way to a set of double doors and I sway on my feet and think of my father, of all people. Perhaps it’s the unmistakable absence of anyone standing beside me. Who would I have asked to give me away? Maybe the twins, but I’m not sure subjecting Graham to that would have been wise with everything else we’ve been dealing with. It feels like a glaring oversight on my part as Stefan leads Brianna down the aisle and I fight against the feeling that I’m about to pass out, alone behind these doors. I wonder how long they’d wait before checking on me. I’m wishing for that cold compress again when the music changes and I square my shoulders then take the first few steps alone.

My eyes find Graham waiting for me at the altar, and despite what I told him a few days ago, just the sight of him does not calm the squirming awful feeling inside me. It’s a shame too, because he’s so incredibly handsome in his tuxedo and white flowers pinned to his lapel. 

I force my feet forward, unaware of the music or the faces around me, terrified that I’m taking the first few steps towards my mother’s predicted future for me. Everything I know says otherwise but fear threatens to swamp me anyways. I move in a daze. Left. Right. Left. Right.

Then I’m just a handful of steps away and Graham takes them towards me. My breath catches. Oh god, he’s changed his mind, I panic for one brief second, expecting him to breeze right by me and out the door. Instead, he turns to stand beside me, reaches for my right hand and threads my arm through his, placing his right hand over mine and now I’m panicking because I’m going to cry for sure as he whispers that I am the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen and he just couldn’t stand to wait any longer.

“Thought you could be patient if you knew what you wanted,” I whisper, thinking of the night he kissed me for the first time.

“Maybe not this time,” he says and doesn’t look away from me as we take the last few steps together.

I hold my breath when the preacher asks if there’s anyone who objects, half expecting one of our mothers to speak up, but they shockingly hold their tongues. I can see Graham’s shoulders visibly relax as the moment passes.

I recite the vows mindlessly, but it doesn’t matter. What he did, meeting me part way, is more of a vow to me than any words fed to us line by line to repeat. And I don’t care how improper it is. When he’s told to kiss the bride, I make the first move and I don’t care about the loud hoots and whistles from some of the people in the audience. I don’t let go until it becomes almost obscene. I want him to know how much what he did meant to me.

The reception is easier to bear. Maybe because it’s done now. We’re married. With warm bands of gold on our fingers to remind us even when we’re apart. It doesn’t hurt that for the reception, there are people all around us, congratulating us and wishing us well with genuine voices and smiles. It’s a party and is treated as such. I am hugged and told how beautiful I am and how happy the people of Skadi are for Graham and me. 

Graham doesn’t leave my side the entire time and I’m finally able to enjoy myself a little. To feel like this a real celebration.

The only real stumbling block comes when they announce our first dance as husband and wife. Graham’s ears turn red and I half expect him to bolt with how stiff his steps are out to the middle of the floor. I try talking to distract him, but he steps on my toes and that only makes his cheeks red too and his movements even more awkward. How someone can be so graceful on skis and so inept on the dance floor is beyond me, but he did warn me that he’s a terrible dancer.

“I told you I look really weird dancing,” he mutters as we’re finally let go from the spotlight. Since we chose to skip the bride and father dance for obvious reasons, Graham opted not to dance with his mother either and the music now changes to something fast and upbeat. I shrug and use the distraction of the guests pouring onto the floor to stand on my toes and kiss his cheek.

“Oh look. Married you anyways.” That seems to relax him a little bit. We remain on the outskirts, since I’m not sure I can manage anything more vigorous than a slow song in this dress and Graham just won’t. It’s still nice to watch the party.

Peeta and Katniss take to the dance floor and, without meaning to, command the space for most of the night, singing and dancing away the hours together. Their dancing is goofy and carefree, and I almost envy them.

Even Ryen’s in high spirits with a bevy of girls paying attention to him. He’s the real belle of the ball, and I laugh when I point this out to Graham and we spot Kevin and a few of the police talking to him like they’re old friends. I suppose they are in a way, now.

Stefan manages to keep my siblings entertained and out of trouble. I do spot Ryen and the twins talking to one another at one point and wonder what sort of mischief they’re getting into. They disappear for about half an hour and then return to the party.

But the congratulations that mean the most to me come from Eirik, who tells me that I was already family and this was merely a formality. And from Lily and Sage Everdeen, both of whom embrace me. Lily hugs Graham as well and Sage speaks to him quietly for a moment.

“Big plans for the honeymoon?” she asks me and I shake my head.

“There wasn’t time. We’re just spending a few days together here before he leaves.” 

Then Sage sweeps her away for a dance to a slow song. I find the two Everdeen girls holding hands and dancing together and laughing on the edge of the floor. Looks like Prim got to dance after all.

The hours sweep along. Graham is careful not to smash cake in a mess on my face and I return the favor, knowing that it’d probably upset him if I did. The crowd is disappointed at our tame cake cutting until he bends down and kisses me soundly.

Eventually, though, I start feeling worn out and ask Graham if it’s too early to leave. He shakes his head and after a quick word to Nicholas, one of the event planners, and a hasty bouquet toss, we’re free. Sort of. First we have to make our way down a line of guests. Then deal with Ryen, Harper and Garrett laughing uproariously at their decorations on Graham’s car. 

“Not like you’re gonna need them for the next nine months,” Ryen jokes with a grin when Graham tells him the condoms blown up as balloons is tacky.

We drive across the grounds of Skadi to one of the cabins. Perhaps not the fanciest accommodations, but I’m glad for the distance from the rest of both of our families. At least it’s one of the cabins that’s accessible from the roads so Graham can drive us there and I don’t have to drag my gown through the dirt and leaves. Snow flurries dot the air and I shiver in the warmth of the car, anticipating the cold dash into our warm honeymoon escape.

“Wait there,” Graham says when we arrive and hurries around the car to my door. He opens it and I’m expecting him to help me out, but instead he scoops me up and into his arms. I laugh as I fling my arms around his neck and nuzzle into his hold. He kicks the car door shut and carries me, lace and satin trailing over his arms, to the cabin and through the door. The snow has picked up and I almost wish it’ll be deep enough tomorrow to give us an excuse to not even leave the cabin. 

As soon as the door is shut, he leans back against it with a sigh.

“And so begins the rest of our lives together,” he says right before I squash the rest of my doubts about our future by kissing him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know, I know, I keep adding chapters in here. There's so much I realize that I want or need to include every time I sit down to write. Anyways, the next one is drafted so it won't be a terribly long wait for it. Hope you enjoyed the wedding and as always, comments welcome! <3


	16. The Small Bumps

**_Salt Lake City - November 2005_ **

If I worried that imminent parenthood would distract Graham from his season… I needn’t have. On the surface, he appears completely distracted. Our phone calls and e-mails are consumed with the baby. How much weight am I gaining? Am I eating well? What symptoms am I dealing with? Am I showing yet? When can we pick out names? How’s the shopping for baby items going?

He buys a copy of  _ What to Expect _ and reads it cover to cover, then has a used but in excellent condition copy shipped to me and I can see within a few pages that its style appeals to his meticulous nature. He reads it again and highlights things, annotating the book and marking the margins when I start to see things in my body that Graham’s read about. He keeps me posted on things like when the baby grows eyebrows and toenails or when their circulatory system is almost formed. He asks for pictures and I send weekly updates with my shirt tucked up and a smile on my face so he can see that I’m still not showing.

“But you look different in other places,” he tells me over the phone, heat in his voice that makes me tease him a little for being so turned on by my enlarged breasts. I just hope it continues when we’re past nursing and birth and have moved on to everything stretched and sagging and tired.

Every time he calls, he asks me to put the phone up to my belly so he can talk to the baby for a few minutes, since he read that the baby can start hearing sounds at eighteen weeks, and if you speak to them, they can even recognize voices or a song by the time they’re born. And Graham wants his voice to be familiar to them.

Sometimes his zeal can be overwhelming, but I know that it’s because he wishes he were here for this. Everything he’s doing is his way of being as involved as he possibly can. Sometimes I wonder if Graham is keeping a more complete record of my pregnancy than the doctor is.

But despite his preoccupation with the baby, he’s having one of his best seasons yet. The medal buzz around him only gets louder as the weeks fly by. It’s almost like he thinks this is his one last chance to have the season of a lifetime, to win that gold at the end, and he’s refusing to let it pass him by.

I worry that he’ll burn himself out before then, but the few times we do talk about it, he never wavers from sounding happy. On top of that, he’s somehow taking a heavier course load, insisting that he wants to finish by the end of spring semester.

“When do you sleep?” I ask him one day when I’m close to falling asleep on my bed after a long shift at the department store.

“Trains. I’ve gotten really good at sleeping on trains.”

Letters arrive in flat boxes this time, filled with skiing news and descriptions of the places he’s staying. Usually he’ll add a small gift for the baby or for me. A tiny sweater or a pair of booties. Chocolates for me to nibble. The letters themselves I tuck in a box tied shut with a blue ribbon, a rainbow chronicling our long distance relationship stored beneath my bed.

Finding a decent paying job and a place to live become my first priorities and cause some stress when we talk about it on the phone. I’m still working, but the housing market isn’t helping much. The only available place we can afford on our income as it appears on paper right now is low income housing. Not that there’s anything wrong with that, in my opinion. I just have a hard time imagining Graham living in a place like that. His skis alone would cover rent for the year.

I can’t think like that, though and keep searching. I’m starting to feel a little desperate and start looking for a third, seasonal job to supplement, when I finally get a call back from a local radio station, for a job working in their promotional department.

I don’t care if the benefits are crap or the commute from my Mom’s house is a nightmare. I take it. I take it and two weeks later, march myself to one of the small townhome communities I’ve had my eye on for over a month and sign a lease with my first salaried paycheck.

When I let myself into the duplex style home, alone for the first time, no realtor and no family breathing down my neck, I stand in the tiny kitchen and watch the daylight fade, listening to the sound of the neighbors’ TV through the wall we share.

Then I sit on the floor and cry. I cry and cry tears of relief because I finally have a home for us and sorrow because here I am setting up our life alone and I want Graham here with me. I wish we’d done this together instead of focusing on getting married before he left. But I loved our wedding too and I don’t know what to think or feel except that I want him here right now, to do these things with me and it’s not something I can or will ever ask of him. Because of what I’d be asking him to give up by default.

He’s in Colorado right now. At a competition I couldn’t make it to because I haven’t built up the time off at my new job just yet. I couldn't even ask to borrow in advance because I’ll need it for Insanity Week around the Christmas holidays and for when the baby is born. He’s just hours away and I can’t even be there for him. I sob harder at the thoughts of what we’re both missing out on.

When I pull myself together, it’s with determination. I’ve got a little over a week until Graham comes home for his midseason break. And I won’t have him sleeping on an air mattress or eating off a cardboard box. His entire break will be a whirlwind and I want him to sleep peacefully beside me. To know that we’ve got a comfortable place for both him and the baby to come home to after the Olympics are done.

The shoeboxes filled with letters find a new home on our closet shelf. Stacked up in one big tower that reaches the ceiling. Stefan and the twins scour thrift stores with me and help me move my few belongings out of my Mom’s house. Since we didn’t exactly take the time to build a gift registry before we got married, most people gave gift cards and money. Along with some of the money Graham has saved up, it helps fill holes naturally created by both of us living with our parents before this. Dishes and linens and I even manage a used washer and dryer off Craigslist. I sell my bike, as much as it pains me to do so. I’ve been driving Graham’s car anyways. Maybe we’ll have enough saved up to buy a second car by the time it becomes an issue. The money from my bike buys us bedroom furniture that I’d like to have refinished, but I just don’t have the time or funds. At least the mattress is new.

Brianna helps me paint the walls. I find solace in the colors. Pale green in our room, a soft blue with a mural of a lake in the mountains for the nursery. Sunny yellow in the kitchen. I don’t really care if the lease admonishes against painting the walls or it’s yet another added expense. I need this. So I paint. 

I’m still deciding on the color for the living room, but really that can wait. It’s not like there’s a lot of furniture in there to move around when I do get to it. Just my childhood writing style desk and spindle backed chair with a laptop Stefan built for me so I could at least justify both phone and internet and be able to email Graham from home. Cable is out of the question for now, although I’m hoping to remedy that before the Olympics. I won’t be able to go this time. I’ll be eight months pregnant by then.

I find a crib and note the price, planning to save up for that later. It’s not an immediate need. The day after I tell Graham about it, a delivery truck shows up shortly after I get home from work. Then I cry on some poor strange man’s shirt when he shows me the paperwork and I realize the matching crib, chest of drawers, and rocking chair they’re hauling into my house is a gift from Gramps.

“I’m overly emotional and weepy,” I tell Graham on the phone that night when he gets confused by my response to the gift. He tries to soothe me about my breakdowns and how much I hate that they seem to keep happening. It’s not an easy task.

“It’s just the hormonal changes. It’s normal, so don’t be so hard on yourself.”

Then I call Eirik to thank him, fighting back blubber and tears.

“Savannah...you are family. Family helps where they can, yes?”

I can’t argue much with that.

“Besides, my journey to this country was funded with a lifetime of sold furnishings and memories.” I really don’t know what to say about that either. Of all the stories Gramps usually tells about Norway and his family, how and why he moved here isn’t one that I’ve heard before. Most of his stories are happy ones, which makes me think this one isn’t. He’s still vague on the details as he speaks now, but I get the picture. 

Eirik understands what it means to have your life overturned in the process of starting out or starting anew. He knows what it means to want for basic necessities, to struggle. It makes accepting the lavish gift from him a little easier, although not much.

As Graham’s return date approaches, I only find myself more stressed out. The house is still only half set up. We’re expected to spend at least a few days in Wyoming with his family for the holidays. And there’s also the handful of days he’s expected in Colorado. And I want some time together here in our new home. We’ve been married two months and it doesn’t really feel like it at all. Pressure and expectations from all sides have me pulled in five directions and I know I’m a moment away from bursting into tears all the time.

At least the morning sickness has passed, but instead I feel tired and weepy all the time. The day before he’s supposed to come home, I clean the place with ferocity, fighting against the butterflies in my belly. When I hold still, I think maybe it’s gas. Then it’s like my insides are trying to slowly peel away from my bones and I call my mother in a panic.

“Honey, it’s probably just the baby moving,” she says and I collapse on the floor because I still have no table and chairs for us yet and cry silently with a hand over my belly. “Do you want me to come over?”

“No,” I say and hide my sniffles. “That won’t be necessary.”

“If that’s what you want.”

I don’t know what I want. I want my mother’s love and comfort. I don’t want her judgement. I don’t know if I can get one without a heaping serving of the other and so I take neither.

It feels so strange, waiting in the airport for Graham. During all our years together, I’ve never before gotten the chance to do this. I wind up munching nervously as I wait and then frantically wiping salt and crumbs off my fingers when the board changes his flight from ON TIME to ARRIVED. I still have a few minutes to wait before he walks through security, and then I run at him as soon as I spot him.

I guess after all I’ve been through the past few weeks, I half expected it to be a dream. He drops his bag and folds me into his arms. I get lost in his heavy coat, left unzipped to vent some of the heat in an overcrowded airport, but I’m grateful for that. It means I can wedge myself in as close to his body as possible.

“Was it worse for you too this time?” he asks and I laugh, the sound crazed, then I tilt my head back to look up at him. He looks so handsome but also tired and worn.

“I’m not answering that,” I say because I can see in his eyes how much it’s costing him to have been away for just these short two months. Because if I let him give in and give up on that gold, he’ll resent us eventually. Instead, I distract him. “Come home with me?”

Graham smiles at my words and kisses me. For a second I worry about what it looks like to be kissing this deeply in public, but honestly if he doesn’t care, then neither do I.

“I can’t wait to see it,” he whispers when he finally stops kissing me.

“I just hope you aren’t disappointed.” He brushes off my concern and holds my hand as we make our way to baggage claim. He somehow juggles everything one handed, refusing to let go of my hand until we reach the car when I need both hands to drive.

It’s another weird moment, me driving and Graham in the passenger seat when really this is his car. Something about it triggers my mouth and shuts down my brain. I talk like I’m on speed, explaining everything that I’ve done to the place so far and what’s still on the list. What we still need for the baby.

“A carseat is the next big thing on the list and a stroller if I can swing it next paycheck. I’m just glad they agreed to let me still work at the department store on the two days a week I have off from the station and --”

“Savannah,” Graham says and sounds a little annoyed. When I glance over at him, my brain finally catches up. He’s tired. Really tired. And here I am bombarding him with chatter.

“Sorry,” I say and purse my lips to stop from talking more.

“No, I want to hear all of this,” he says and sets one hand on my thigh, rubbing it in a comforting motion. “I really do. Just maybe not right this second.”

“Okay, so food or sleep first?” I ask and he sighs.

“Since I haven’t figured out a way to eat while sleeping yet, food.”

“You wanna pick something up so we don’t have to wait?”

“Sounds good.”

We make a quick stop for food and Graham orders five sandwiches for himself. Then he turns to me.

“I’ll have a --”

“Wait,” the guy behind the counter interrupts. “Those are all for him?”

“Yes,” I say, a little confused.

“He gonna eat all of them?”

Graham’s ears turn pink and I laugh, giving him a half hug. “He just got off a flight from Austria.”

“Oh well, welcome home?” the guy says and then takes my order.

Graham scarfs down all five roast beef sandwiches before I even finish the one and the same guy wanders by, shaking his head as he takes in the balled up wrappers on the tray. 

“Takes a lot of calories to run those races,” I murmur and Graham softens a little.

“But I’m somehow eating more than my pregnant wife.” 

A strange tingling starts behind my ears and skips down my spine.  _ Wife _ . That’s right, we’re married now. Sometimes it’s hard to remember. It feels like so long ago.

“No sympathy weight gain,” I say and snatch the fries off his tray. He scowls at me but it’s not very convincing. “You still have to get airborne. It’s not recommended for me to get airborne at all.”

That makes him laugh and wind our fingers together on top of the table while I eat his fries. “Definitely not.”

After that, the drive home is quiet, other than a few soft snores while Graham takes a quick nap. When I park in front of our home, I unbuckle my belt and lean over to kiss him awake.

He wakes slowly, kissing me back before I think he’s fully aware. His fingers comb through my hair to hold me in place and he moans. “Missed you.”

“We’re home,” I tell him and bite my lip as his eyes open wide and he sits up slightly before looking out the car window.

Before I can voice another disclaimer, he’s out of the car and I’m being carried up the snow dusted walk, laughing and fumbling to keep my keys in my hand so I can unlock the front door. Graham starts kissing my neck as I struggle with the lock.

“Faster,” he urges.

“Aha!” I shout when I get it unlocked and Graham practically kicks the door down after I twist the knob.

“Which way?” he asks, his lips still latched to my neck, demanding my attention.

“Don’t you want the tour?” I gasp.

“Later. Right now I want to know where the hell the bedroom is so I can make love to my wife in our bed.”

“Upstairs to the right,” I say and yank off his beanie, leaving it discarded on the stairs as he basically runs up them with me in his arms. He stops for a second to stare at the nursery, seeming torn. But now he’s got me all turned on with this display of brute strength and desire, so I nibble on his ear and he turns to the right, setting me on my feet once we’re in the room.

Coats and clothes get flung aside with minor delays from us touching and caressing, sneaking kisses. I dive under the covers first, shivering as the cool fabric hits my skin. Graham follows and pulls me flush against him, his mouth claiming mine for a second, his hand sliding up and down my side. And then he lifts his head with a smirk and his eyes drop to my chest. He palms one breast and then the other before lowering his head to trace a circle with his tongue. And then, he takes as much as he can get in his mouth.

“Ohmigah--” I squeak at the bursts of heat that flare to life with each of his sucks. I thread my fingers through his hair and cling to him.

“Am I hurting you?”

“What? No!” I say and he smiles.

“Book said they might be tender,” he says and I cover my mouth to stifle my laughter at how serious he sounds.

“I don’t remember that part.”

“Really?” He hums as he contemplates me and fondles them for a second, watching my reactions. He leans down and kisses my neck, whispering about how this is all he thought about on the flight home. His mouth travels back down to my breasts and stays there until I’m squirming on the bed and rubbing my thighs together to relieve the ache between them. Our combined body heat warms the sheets around us. 

“Please,” I whine as I thrust up into him.

“Book also said you might have more intense orgasms,” he murmurs as his kisses travel lower, His knee wedges gently between my thighs and I open them eagerly for him. “Shall we test that theory?”

He’s completely covered by the sheets and I can’t see what he’s doing, but oh can I feel it. I mutter incoherently and wring the sheets in my hands as he tongues me and my hips buck up into his mouth every so often. My lips are practically throbbing with need and as much as I’d like to let him take this to the end, I need him.

I feel empty and desperate as I tug on his hair to get his attention. He kisses my thigh, wiping the mess I've made off his lips onto my skin before he slides up my body. I push on his shoulder to get him on his back. He caresses my legs and my hips as I line him up and then his whole body jerks as I slam down onto him.

I ignore his shouted curse, followed by his worry that neighbors might hear us. 

“Don’t care,” I whine, focused instead on how full I feel. So delicious. I plant my hands on his shoulders and start rocking, following a primal need. Faster and harder, pulling loud keening moans from deep inside me as I throw my head back. My thighs start to burn and my throat is going hoarse, but god does it feel incredible. I chase the ribbons of carnal need until they wind together and then I succumb to the yank and pull of ecstasy in my core. My legs seize up and I scream, release pouring out of me over his body.

My hips jerk over him, drawing it out, and then my torso goes limp. Curled over on top of him, supported on my hands and shaking arms as my walls still clench on his hard cock, milking out the last few waves. I mumble that I missed him too and try my best not to cry. He stares up at me, his jaw hanging open and his eyes astonished.

When I stop shuddering, I pry my fingernails from his skin and note the familiar orgasmic flush speckling his cheeks, his neck and chest. I didn’t even notice when he came, if he did, too caught in my own pleasure.

“Sorry,” I mutter, a little embarrassed as I run a hand through my hair to try and tame it.

“What was  _ that _ ?” he asks and then smiles, pushing himself to sit upright. I hiss and he wraps one arm around me, his smile fading. “Did that hurt?”

“No,” I say tremulously and his smile quickly returns. He braces a hand on the bed behind him, and holding me around the waist, rocks his hips beneath me. “Oh god,  _ Graham _ ,” I moan and my head rolls back as I grab hold of his neck this time, my fingers playing with the hair on his nape. It only takes a few solid grinds of our hips before we realize he’s not going to stay hard long enough to make me come again, but he’s ahead of me on that.

“Hot damn. Theory confirmed,” he says and then throws me down on the bed, pushing my legs wide before sliding his fingers inside me.

By the time he stops, my hair is hopelessly tangled from my thrashing on the bed, my voice is scratchy, and I can’t feel my toes anymore. Long red scratches mar the skin over his biceps. There’s still a throbbing in my core, but now it’s a sated throb, one from the harsh friction of prolonged attention and string of intense orgasms. We lay sprawled across our now messy sheets, my hand absently caresses his chest as he plays with my hair.

“Guess we should take that tour now, huh?” he whispers and I laugh maniacally.

“You go. I’ll call your phone and conduct the tour from right here,” I say.

“Nah, I’ll wait,” he says and pulls the blankets up to cover us and our mess. 

We fall asleep like that and when I wake, I’m still in his arms, although it’s dark outside now. I don’t want to get out of bed. It’s toasty and wonderful beneath the covers and I shiver just at the thought of the cold I’ll face when I get up, snuggle closer to Graham for now. 

“This is nice,” he murmurs and tilts my chin up to kiss me.

“What is?”

“Waking up with you in our home.” I smile at his words and hope he’ll still think that in a few minutes after I show him around.

“I know it’s not much.”

“It’s perfect.”

“You haven’t really seen it yet.”

“About that…”

I gasp and sit up in the bed, he looks guilty and shrugs.

“You looked so peaceful sleeping, so I gave myself the tour. I figured I’d get my bags from the car and start some laundry. That mural in the nursery is amazing, by the way.” He sits up too and cups my cheek in his hand, runs his thumb over the apple as my eyes start watering. “Oh no. Don’t cry, love. I guess I should have waited.”

“No, it’s fine. It’s your home too.”

“Savannah, I’m so sorry.” I nod and swipe at my eyes. He brings his other hand up to gently cradle my face in both palms, dropping soft kisses on my face, down to my neck, over my collar bone. “You are amazing. I can’t believe how much you’ve already done with the place. When do you sleep?”

I laugh, the sound watery through my tears and now he swipes at them, too. “So you like it?”

“It feels like home,” he murmurs and I fling my arms around him, knocking him back onto the mattress.

It’s much later when we finally climb from bed. Graham starts a warm shower for us and he holds my hands out to my sides as he examines my middle.

“There’s definitely a bump here,” he says and sets his hands on my waist, testing how far his fingers stretch. “Yep. I used to be able to get my thumbs to touch here. Now I can’t.”

He kneels in the water and whispers to our baby. I take advantage and wash myself and then his hair, making him sputter and scowl playfully at me, but then he wraps me in his arms and holds me while the suds wash down the drain.

“I’ll go start dinner. You relax for a few more minutes,” he tells me and slips out of the now steam filled shower. As good as it feels, I don’t linger much after he’s left. I’ve had enough solitary showers to last me awhile. I want to fix dinner with Graham in our kitchen.

It’s a good thing, too, because when I reach the kitchen, he’s muttering to himself and opening cabinets then shutting them. “Where is the -- aha! You were hiding the boiler pot.”

“I didn’t hide it. It was in that cabinet.”

“Yeah, but doesn’t it go better over…” he points and trails off and I shrug.

“I guess it could have gone there.”

“It’s fine. We can move things around.” His comment annoys me but I don’t want to pick a fight with him. Instead I step in to help and show him where things are kept when he asks for them. As we cook, I feel the baby moving.

“Oh,” I say and snatch up his hand, placing it on my belly. He stares down at me as we hold perfectly still and then…

A gentle push near his hand. 

I shift his touch and wait. This time, the push is right against his palm.

“Can you feel that?”

“Barely. Maybe?” he says, looking a little disappointed.

“They’ll get stronger eventually,” I tell him. We stand there for a few more minutes, waiting for another touch or a stronger one, until my stomach growls loudly, making us both laugh and return to fixing dinner.

We only get two days before we have to pack up the car and drive to Wyoming. 

The closer we get, the more nervous I become. Graham says his mother hasn’t said anything else cruel about me, but I’m not sure that I believe him. I wouldn’t put it past him to keep that from me. To shield me since I’ve been so hormonal and touchy lately.

At least someone was thoughtful enough to swap out his old twin bed for a full size, but even that’s an adventure trying to sleep on with Graham’s broad frame. Neither of us sleeps well and there’s even one night when Graham rolls off the bed completely because he’s trying not to crush me every time he adjusts his position.

On the bright side, our time there flies by so fast that I don’t have time to freak out about it. Agnes grills us on my health, our living situation, my job. But Graham holds me close to his side and answers most of her questions. I’m not even sure what to think of the questions she asks, though. It’s almost like she wants to be an involved grandmother now that it’s apparent I won’t be holding Graham back, but her tone is still abrasive.

On Christmas Eve, I wake before Graham, undeniably aroused. I wait, trying to think unpleasant thoughts but it’s not easy with Graham pressed against me. I shift in bed and sigh when it doesn’t fade and finally, I give up. I give up and straddle him, my heavier belly pressing into him as I caress his body, gently rock my hips, and kiss his neck. 

He murmurs in his sleep and his hands slide up over my hips to cup my ass cheeks, but he doesn’t wake fast enough for my tastes, so I decide to...well, taste him awake. I slide my hand down into his shorts to stroke him to start with, lips still nibbling on his ear and neck. When he mumbles something that sounds like my name, I lift my head to watch his eyes flutter open and his teeth dig into his lip.

“Good morning,” I say, biting back a smile at his bewildered expression. 

The easiest way to do this in our not quite big enough bed is to straddle his face and bend over. I don’t warn him what I’m doing. He’s still sleepy enough to not protest when I move. His soft curse as I settle over his face, just out of reach of his mouth, encourages me and I push his shorts down. He lifts his hips to help and before he stops swaying, I grab hold and wrap my lips around him.

“Ah, fuck.” His fingers bite into flesh and his hips rock up into my mouth. He speaks in choppy syllables, turning my name into three completely separate sounds.

Then his hands push my nightgown up and my panties to the side. I squeak a little as he pulls me down onto his mouth and his tongue parts my lips. It becomes apparent pretty fast though, that while this feels really good, we’re both so distracted that neither of us is going to come this way. 

Graham pushes me forward and shifts onto his knees behind me. He drops kisses onto my back and a warning that others will be waking up so we can’t be loud. He has to stifle my moans with his hand as he enters me at the same time someone walks past the door. Then he’s thrusting and holding my belly so we don’t jostle anything too much. I come first, shoving fistfuls of sheets into my mouth so I stay silent. I’m still squeezing his cock when someone knocks on the door and informs us that breakfast is ready.

“Be right there,” Graham says and slides from me when I’m done, whispering that we need to clean up and get dressed. I refuse to leave him unsatisfied and yank him back on the bed. It only takes a few hard sucks and bobs of my head before he explodes in my mouth, his fingers curled painfully into my skull and his thighs clenched under my palms.

“We can skip breakfast,” he says, breathless as I finally sit up and giggle.

But we don’t skip breakfast and we don’t skip out on the Christmas Eve feast either, as much as I’d like to sneak away to either just sleep with him wrapped around me or to have another round of hot sex.

At one point during the feast, I start to feel crowded, overheated, and wander out of the ballroom into the lobby for some air. There, I find Peeta on a ladder, touching up the drawings on the massive calendar Eirik keeps near Rooba’s shop to track all of their competition schedules and results. I can’t help but smile at all the single digit finishes under Graham’s name. He really is having a great season.

“Hey, Savannah,” Peeta greets me when he notices that I’m watching.

“Hi. This is cute,” I say and point to the brightly colored hummingbirds he’s drawn following Katniss around the board, almost like her necklace she wears.

“Oh. That’s just, um, it’s her nickname. So I dunno. Thought she might like it, but the colors aren’t blending right and it looks weird so she probably hates it,” he stammers and when I glance back up, he’s blushing. Strawberry red on the entirety of his ears and it’s creeping down his neck. 

Ah, so he hasn’t plucked up the courage just yet to tell Katniss how he feels. Maybe it’s better that he hasn’t. They’re still both so young. I smother a smile and nod, very seriously.

“I’m sure she doesn’t hate it. It’s very good.”

“Could be better. Got any tips?” he asks.

“Well it’s not a medium I’m familiar with, but maybe we should experiment,” I say with sudden excitement. It’s been awhile since I’ve been able to just mess around with a new medium.

“Okay. If you’re not busy.”

“I needed to step out a moment. It was getting a little warm in there.” 

With a strained smile that shows no teeth, he scrambles down the ladder and digs through a plastic bin of markers, talking about colors and shading and then he pulls a few pictures he’s printed off the internet of real life hummingbirds to use as an example.

“Oh, that’s beautiful,” I say as I point to one that looks almost exactly like the one she wears in beads around her neck.

“Yeah, but I can’t get the chest feathers right,” he says a little dejectedly.

“Let’s try some layers,” I suggest.

I get lost in the art, in the scent of the markers and the thrill of chasing the exact right shade. The right combination to layer it. The strokes to get the texture right. We make notes on the board as we work to keep track of what we’ve tried, easily erased or modified when the result still isn’t right.

Eventually, we’re successful. The ink dries just right and Peeta holds both hands out to his sides, guarding the ink from the slightest disturbances, a marker still clenched between his fingers.

“Nobody move,” he says and I bite my lip to stop from laughing. “I think...yes, that’s it!”

“It’s beautiful,” I say and Peeta sighs happily, dropping his hands.

“Now I just have to repeat it.”

“So where is Katniss anyways? You two are usually inseparable.”

“Oh. I don’t know,” he says a little  _ too _ casually with a shrug. “She was talking to David Parker last I saw her.”

“Huh,” I say and Peeta focuses on fixing another one of the birds to get it just right. 

“He likes her,” he says more to the board than to me. “I mean, who wouldn’t?” 

My heart pulls at his words. Fearless on his snowboard and so scared where a girl is involved. Kind of like Graham when we first started dating. 

“And he’s got really straight teeth,” Peeta adds as he scratches at a smudge of marker that’s seeped beyond the outline of the bird he’s now working on.

I did catch a discussion yesterday about scheduling Peeta to see an orthodontist in the spring. While I didn’t pay much attention to it at the time, I’m wondering now if it’s hurting his confidence. I just want to hug him and tell him it’ll be okay, but I don’t want to overstep or make him uncomfortable. It must be hard being so young and in love with your best friend, and thinking she maybe has feelings or at least interest in someone else.

“That doesn’t mean she likes him back,” I suggest and he stops drawing for a second to look back at me.

“There you are,” Graham says and slips an arm around me. “I was starting to worry.”

“She was helping me with the colors,” Peeta says and Graham nods.

“Looks good.”

“Thanks,” Peeta says. “And thanks for your help, Savannah.”

The other good thing about our time in Wyoming is that we pack a few boxes with Graham’s things to take with us back to Utah. Mostly clothes and his gear for skiing that didn’t go with him for the season, and a small box of books.

Then it’s off to Colorado.

While we’re there, I spend my time scouring the shops while Graham deals with all the pre-Olympic hype. Part of me wishes I could help or be involved somehow, but I do find a few things to spruce up our home a little, along with a beautiful fleece blanket with a fair isle print on it in dark blues, soft creams, and a touch of purple. I buy that for the baby, even though it’s a bit of a splurge.

By the time we head home, the car is packed but I’m feeling more optimistic. Like making it through this first mid season break is a test for how well we’ll weather future ones and it looks like we’ll be just fine. We unpack bags and boxes, working together to decide where things will go. We manage the car seat earlier than I had planned since we were careful with the spending on gifts for each other this year. Graham spends a good thirty minutes securing it in the car...just in case, he tells me.

“I don’t want you to have to scramble to get it in the car if something happens or you go into early labor.”

I hold back the reminder that I still have almost three months to go because I can see how it soothes him to be involved.

The day he leaves to return for the next leg of his season, I find him standing in the nursery.

“Your bags?” I ask softly.

“Already in the car.” I slide my arms around him and he turns in my embrace to hug me back. “I’m coming back here before the Olympics. It’ll only be for a few days, but I don’t want to go without seeing you first.”

“If you don’t think that’ll tire you out,” I say and he shakes his head.

“I’ll be fine. I think I’m going to need it.” We remain there as long as we can but eventually I have to drive him to the airport. After he checks in, we stand just short of security and he pulls me in close, kisses me until my head begins to spin and I’m basically plastered to his frame.

And then… a solid thump. Graham jerks his head back and stares down at me.

“Was that...?”

“It was.”

He wedges a hand between us and another kick lands just on the edge of his fingers. His face breaks out in a gorgeous smile and he keeps blinking, like maybe he’s trying not to cry.

A few minutes and two good touches later, he drags his hand up to my cheek and kisses me one last time. Soft. Slow.

“Now I feel like I can do this,” he murmurs. “Keep our bed warm for me?”

I nod and then he slips away, a smile on his face. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I swear I'm trying to get them up to 2007 as fast as possible so we can rip off THAT band aid. Chapter 17 is already drafted and 18 is roughly outlined. Stupid outline keeps growing every time I look at word count and start grumbling, Darn it this chapter is getting too long fine I'll end it here and just put that other bit in the next one. Also I vent in run-ons. Hope you enjoyed! <3 KDNFB


	17. The Taste of Victory

**_Salt Lake City - January 2006_ **

“I love my sister. I love my sister. I love my sister,” I say on repeat and swallow another Tums. How many of these can I take in a day? Oh who cares. I’m beginning to think this baby is indestructible. “That’s it, isn’t it? You’re indestructible.”

I am rewarded with a solid punch and a rolling motion that makes me a little nauseous. A month and a half ago I was barely showing. Now I look like I swallowed a giant beach ball whole.

“Look here, little one. We have to coexist with this body for another month and a half,” I whisper. 

Then I close my eyes and lean against the bathroom door. I hold my hands over my belly and talk in soft tones as she moves. I swear she’s practicing for gymnastics. Wouldn’t that be something? A nice round up for an Olympic legacy family. Why limit ourselves to the winter games?

When she stops moving, I sigh and splash some water on my face then head back out to the party, plastering a bright smile on my face.

“There she is!” Penelope squeals and Brianna cringes in the background.

“I couldn’t tell her not to,” Brianna had said when I found out this morning that we wouldn’t be having a sister’s day out like I’d been expecting. Nope. Penelope had planned a surprise baby shower for me instead. I didn’t even know my cousin was going to be in Utah.

“You didn’t have to help her plan it either,” I’d snapped at my sister and then stomped into my kitchen to fix a sundae.

“I felt bad! I should have thrown you a bachelorette or at least a wedding shower, but I didn’t get to do that! And -- How can you eat that right now? It’s snowing!”

“I’m hot!” I shouted tearfully. And then Brianna had hugged me and dumped more chocolate chips on my caramel crunch ice cream.

Oh but how I wish she had been able to tell Penelope not to do it. It’s been one game after another. One innuendo after another. And Brianna now sees why I’ve cut back on my interactions with Penelope. Every time my eyes have met my sister’s today, she’s mouthed the words  _ I’m sorry. _

Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad if Penelope wasn’t flashing around her massive engagement ring and talking non-stop about her wedding plans for next May. Pouting that she wasn’t invited to my wedding and how she would have loved to have been able to make it, despite my reminders to her that it was kind of rushed and there were very few guests. We didn’t even send out fancy invitations. And, of course, that led to her telling everyone here that she dated Graham first and is the whole reason he and I even met. Which led into a random group discussion about how hot my husband is and how lucky I am to have landed him. It sounds nice, but the whole thing made me uncomfortable and inexplicably furious. Thus why I was hiding in the bathroom chowing down Tums like they’re Doritos. Because honestly, between the heartburn and the feelings churning in my gut, I was at the point where my best option was escape or ripping out someone’s hair. 

I don’t know what Penelope’s motives are anymore. I’m just hurt that she could be so petty and hide it under the guise of being nice to me by throwing me a baby shower. I’ve about run out of goodwill and excuses for my cousin.

I grind my teeth and take my seat, refusing to put on the pink sash declaring me “Mommy-To-Be” they decided I should wear. I mean, my belly makes it kind of obvious at this point and it’s the wrong shade to go with my plaid dress and tall brown leather boots. The clashing offends me.

“Alright! Last game! Now we’re going to guess names!”

“We haven’t picked names yet,” I say and get a perverse joy out of the awkward silence.

“Oh…”

“We don’t plan on finding out the gender either,” I add with glee. Brianna lifts one eyebrow at me but keeps quiet.  _ We _ know. She went with me to the latest ultrasound and I forgot to tell the technician that I didn’t want to know. So now I do, and so does Brianna, but Graham wanted to be surprised so I refuse to tell anyone else before him.

“You don’t have a girl and a boy name picked out just in case?”

“Nope,” I say and smile. We haven’t picked out names yet because he wanted to do that together, in person. “But there’s a cake, right? We could just skip the game and go right to cake.”

Enough people seem excited about the prospect of cake, and I’m happily stuffing my face a few minutes later, bumping my hip into Brianna’s. It’ll be fine. This is just a small annoyance. Really it’s not all bad. I have diapers and wipes for days. Onesies in all sizes and colors courtesy of every random female acquaintance and coworker that I have. The cake is pretty delicious.

And at the end of the day, I have a sister who loves me and was just trying to do something nice for me. I hug her before she can climb into her car, now loaded down with gifts. She sniffles and apologizes again. I squeeze tighter and tell her it’ll be fine.

“Let’s get you home and load up your diaper drawers,” she says, making me laugh.

It’s the most fun I’ve had all day, working with Brianna to unload the gifts and organize the nursery. Again. I’ve reorganized twice this week alone -- Graham informed me the book calls it “nesting.” Afterwards, we sit down to gorge ourselves on leftover cake and give ourselves a sugar high while we write snarky thank you notes to Penelope. It’s cruel, but it makes Brianna snort with laughter and makes me feel better.

After Brianna leaves, I shred the joke notes and slide the real one into an envelope to mail tomorrow. I’ll write ones for the gifts tomorrow as well. I just don’t feel up to it tonight. 

Then I stand in my still unfinished living room with my arms crossed. This is going to bother me. I have a TV set up on a plastic crate and a sofa that I got for a bargain from one of my mom’s neighbors, but I despise the upholstery so much it made my brain hurt. I had to buy a cover for it until I can scrounge together enough money for a sofa that I actually want or to have this one redone. Also I had to skip painting the walls in here for now, but that’s okay. It’ll give me a project to look forward to next winter.

“Oof!” I place a hand over my belly where she gave me a really good wallop and sigh. “Well aren’t you Daddy’s punctual little girl.”

Because two seconds later, the phone rings, and I know before I pick up that it’s Graham. He’s still a creature of habit and routine in so many ways.

“Hi.”

“Hey. How was your day?” Graham asks and I launch into an abbreviated version of the baby shower fiasco.

“On the bright side...we are all stocked up on diapers and the stuff to wash them.”

It’s only a short call tonight. A quick exchange of news. He’s headed home in a few days anyways. I get another kick in the gut and let Graham know he has someone else expecting his phone call before placing the phone against my belly. I often wonder if this will actually work with the hushed sounds that come through the lines, but there’s no way I’m denying Graham this, just in case it does work.

“I can’t wait to see you again,” he tells me when he’s done talking to the baby.

“Me either,” I tell him and run a hand over my belly. “It’s lonely here without you.”

“Not for much longer,” he reminds me. “I’ll see you soon.”

“Sweet dreams, Teddy,” I whisper in case someone is nearby.

“Love you.” I send my love back to him with a kiss and then hang up. 

“Now for laundry,” I tell no one. I’ve taken some inspiration from Graham’s habit, talking almost all the time to the baby when I’m alone in the house. I talk while I paint or sketch, while I cook or fold clothes. When I’m driving to and from work. Perhaps silliest of all though is my off-key singing in the shower before we go to bed.

January fades to February, the days full and busy as excitement builds. Life sometimes gets in the way, though, and I get caught at work on the day Graham comes home. I send half a dozen frantic texts and leave messages on his voicemail to explain. But then I’m stuck scrambling to deal with last minute changes to the guest for an interview and the fallout from the shenanigans of an on air personality who may need to consider some rehab. I’m so caught up with work that I don’t get a chance to check my phone until after his plane has already landed.

When I do, I have one voicemail from Graham.

“Don’t worry about me. I’ve got a cab home. I’ll see you there.” He doesn’t sound annoyed, so as soon as I’m able, I pack my things and drive home.

“Saw you got your cable hooked up the other day.” I’m stopped on the sidewalk by my neighbor and smile at him.

“That’s right. All ready for the Olympics now. How’s the jukebox repair going, Mr. Taylor?” I ask, a little impatient. I usually don’t mind my chatty neighbor. I think he’s just lonely and it’s nice to have someone to talk to, but today I have somewhere to be.

“Slower than I’d like,” he says with a shrug and launches into an explanation. I smile and nod, trying not to lose my cool. I really hate to squash his passion and it doesn’t hurt for me to listen to him talk about restoring antique electronic devices. But Graham is inside. We’ve only got a few days. My preoccupation must show because he pauses and adjusts his glasses on his nose. “Am I...keeping you from your visitor? I did see a young man arrive in a taxi.”

“Graham is home for a few days,” I tell him and he nods.

“Ah. So that was your husband. I did wonder. It must be rough with him gone so often.”

“It can be, but we’re making the best of it.”

“Of course,” Mr. Taylor says, his eyes dropping momentarily to my belly. I smile through the odd feeling that sweeps over me and motion towards the door.

“I should go. I’ll talk to you later!”

I don’t hear his response, too occupied letting myself inside. All is quiet when I let myself in and pry off my shoes.

“Graham?” I ask. No response. I do hear the quiet hum of the washing machine and notice that he washed my breakfast dishes. I find him upstairs, laid out and fast asleep on top of the covers.

As I crawl over the comforter next to him, he stirs a little and I kiss him. He tastes like he’s been traveling and smells like it too, but I can’t bring myself to care. I’m just glad to have him home and curl up close to him.

He doesn’t wake. Actually, I fall asleep too and wake up feeling groggy with Graham’s lips on the back of my neck. His hands skimming over my swollen belly. I worry that his homecoming was unremarkable this time and shift to face him. When my eyes find him watching me, though, he’s smiling.

“We should go out.”

“What?” I ask, confused by his eagerness.

“You’ve been working so hard. Let me take you out for a nice dinner. What are you craving?”

He showers and change as I think about it.

“No Italian,” I say as he drives. “I can’t stand the smell of that much garlic right now.”

“Really?”

“Ironic, isn’t it? Maybe it’s a good thing I’m advised not to fly for this Olympics.”

“I still wish you could be there,” he says and the way he lifts my hand to kiss it allays any guilt I might have felt at his words.

“Next one. Vancouver. I could drive to that one if need be.”

“Who says there will be a next one for me?”

“Because…” I trail off and his eyes glance over at me, eyebrows lifted in question. “Because you love skiing, and competing. You’re not even thirty yet!”

“I love you more. I figured with the baby—“

“Graham, I’m not going to ask you to give it up. As soon as we’re more stable financially and the baby’s old enough, I’m more than happy to travel to see you compete a few times a year.”

“I hadn’t thought...I guess I should have known.”

“Known what?”

“Known that you’d never ask me to choose,” he says and stares at me as we’re stopped at a red light. “That you’d want to find a way to make it work.”

“I mean, don’t get me wrong. I’ve missed you. So much this time. And the baby will miss you too, but there’s phone calls and emails and letters and the summer. As long as you’re here when you’re here, I don’t see why you should give it up completely.”

“Even if I win gold in Italy? That was the goal, right?”

“Won’t count unless I’m there,” I say haughtily and he laughs. “I want to see you get that gold medal in person and have an obscene video of me kissing you afterwards splashed all across the talk shows before you retire from skiing.”

“That’s...very specific. Why do you want that?”

“No reason,” I say, my cheeks inexplicably heating. He parks and turns to me caressing my neck with one hand and kissing me into a fever. His lips demanding and hot on my throat. Sucking on my ear as I sigh.

“I just, want everyone to know you’re taken,” I gasp and he laughs into my skin.

“So taken. I’m crazy in love with my wife.” He lifts his head and smiles down at me then. “She’s the most incredible woman in the world.”

“And don’t you forget it,” I tease, tugging on his tie.

It’s nice, eating out like this. Kind of like a date, something we haven’t done in awhile without worries hovering over us. We talk names. Graham’s suggestion of Ophelia gets tossed when the baby kicks hard enough to make me gasp out loud and curl a hand around the spot she smacked.

“What’s wrong?”

“I don’t think that name meets her approval. Oof. She moves like a boxer in training. Or a mermaid out of water.”

“She?” Graham asks and I pause for a beat before shrugging.

“Just a feeling. I’m probably wrong.”

“Mermaid out of water, huh? What about...Ariel,” he suggests and I can’t help but laugh. Still, we keep circling back to it.

I eat almost the entire bread basket on my own and Graham asks for a second one. He holds my hand the whole night. As we wait for the check, he nuzzles my ear and whispers that I’m gorgeous and glowing. I think about telling him that he is too. There’s an aura around him that I can’t place but know that it’s insanely sexy. Is there such a thing as a soon-to-be-father glow? If so, Graham has it.

I can’t keep my hands off him in the car and we barely make it to the bed when we get home. It’s a little cumbersome with my pregnant belly, but we manage. Graham keeps caressing me in a tender way that brings tears to my eyes as I climax. Then he holds me through the aftermath, still caressing and holding me close to his warmth as I fall asleep.

As much as I wish I could spend all day with Graham while he’s here, I’m stuck working the next few days. But it’s nice coming home to him and not having to worry about the grocery shopping or summoning the energy to cook or deal with some other menial household chore.

He dusts. He vacuums. He powers through several assignments and gets ahead on his classwork. He frames and then hangs several of my paintings and sketches on the walls. He finds a stroller and a baby monitor. I let Graham take charge of getting those put together and set up, knowing that once again, this is his way of being involved. He runs through a checklist for my hospital bag to make sure I haven’t forgotten anything.

But all of this comes after he’s squeezed in a few (dozen) kilometers of skiing or some training first thing in the mornings to keep him ready for the games.

In a short time, I’ve gotten so used to coming home to him being house spouse that it’s almost jarring when I come home to silence the day before he leaves for Italy. 

“Graham?” I ask as I struggle with my boots. They’re getting more difficult to take off with this growing watermelon on my front.

There’s no response and I huff in frustration at my shoes. I don’t want to drag melted snow and dirt upstairs when he just cleaned.

And then music starts in the living room. As I peer in that direction, I notice that the blinds are all drawn and the room glows, bathed in candle light.

“This way, Madame,” Graham says sensually as he steps into my view and braces one hand on the doorway. He’s dressed like he was on our first date. Nice pants and shirt, jacket and yes...a tie.

“What are you doing?”

“I have this carefully timed. No questions, just..” he takes my hand in his and leads me to a chair from our kitchen that he’s set in the middle of the living room. I laugh a little and sit down.

Then he steps back and starts swaying his hips. I’m guessing it’s supposed to be timed with the music, but it’s all off. I bite my cheek to hold back my laughter and give him a questioning look.

“It’s recently been brought to my attention that you did not receive a bachelorette party, and that is a shame. I am here to correct it,” he practically purrs at me and then swings one leg out then the other to straddle me, holding his weight off me with his hands on the back of the chair. Now I do laugh, but grab his hips so he knows it’s not meant to make fun of him.

“Madame,” he says and stops moving, a stern look on his face. “Please. No handling the performer.”

“My apologies,” I say and take my hands off him. “I’ll behave.”

He gives me curt nod and then starts gyrating over me. It’s nearly impossible to keep my hands to myself. He seems so earnest as he dances. Horribly. Awkwardly.

Then he jumps back, and stiff, disjointed side thrusts of his hips keep terrible time as he unbuttons his jacket. Graham spins and drops it off his shoulders, hips still in motion. The jacket gets tossed aside and two seconds later, his belt is whipped out to the side in a surprisingly smooth move. I clap as he looks back over his shoulder at me and winks before dropping the belt.

There’s a few seconds of me biting hard on my lip as he struggles with his shoes but then those are off too. My eyes follow his motions, each dip of his knees and each step towards me, unbuttoning his shirt as he goes. As he comes to stand over me again, hips thrusting and fingers working his pants button, something catches my eyes. He’s not wearing a plain white undershirt like normal. Before I can comment or figure out what it is beneath his dark blue dress shirt, he’s taking my hand and placing it on the zipper pull.

“If you would, Madame.” I smile up at him as I slowly drag the zipper down. When I meet resistance at the end of his fly, he yanks his shirt open, tails flying free from his slacks, and laughter bursts out of my mouth.

He’s wearing his ski suit under his regular one.

“How did you know my wildest fantasy, sir?” I ask and he smiles at me.

“Lucky guess.”

“I love you so much.” I tip my chin up and pull him down to kiss him. At first he responds, but then he remembers that he’s playing a role and jerks back, shock on his face.

“Madame. What would your husband say?”

“Well,” I shimmy in my seat and play coy, twisting his tie around one hand and drawing him back down to me. “It  _ is  _ my bachelorette party. I’m supposed to have one last wild night, aren’t I? And he’s not here right now.”

“Madame!”

I chuckle, but Graham lets me kiss him this time. His hand cups my cheek and the kiss is far too intimate to keep up the charade. My hands push at his slacks and he steps out of them, kicking them aside. Then he’s carrying me to the sofa, setting me on it and bracing his hands on the cushions behind me because I refuse to let go of his tie or his hair. I refuse to stop kissing him. 

He eventually releases a muffled grunt into my mouth and manages to pry his mouth free of mine. I whimper, but he lifts one of my feet as he steps back, carefully removes my boot and massages my foot. I groan in delight and enjoy being pampered. After a few minutes, he takes care of the other foot. By then, I’m ready to rip off the rest of his clothes and mount him because I am so turned on right now.

His dancing is truly awful. I’m pretty sure I’m the only person in the world who could find it sexy, but that has more to do with the fact that I know how uncomfortable he feels when he dances and he did it anyways. For me.

“Graham. Now?” I plead. He looks up from massaging my foot and must see what I’m thinking because he stops and resumes stripping. No coy dance this time.

I still haven’t let go of his tie, so that stays on him as he sheds his shirt. The ski suit is ripped off in record time. My tights and panties and dress get thrown somewhere and my back arches as he enters me, the sensations of all the added weight I’m carrying a strain on my spine. He places one hand beneath me, supporting me as he braces his knees on the edge of the couch and moves. I gasp in short squeaks with each gentle rotation of his hips. He bends over and kisses my neck, groaning into it as flames lick at my fingers and toes. 

“More. Oh god more,” I beg and his movements come faster, harder to match the loud cries I send up towards the ceiling. Then the flames finally engulf me. My legs clamp around him and hold him still inside me. A warbling sound fills the room, my ears ringing with it until I stop coming. 

Graham drops soft kisses over my flushed face and then lifts me again, switching our positions and settling with me on his lap. He holds me, caressing me as I sink into the afterglow. But he hasn’t come, so I swivel my hips over him.

I am rewarded with a sharp intake of breath and splayed hands on my lower back, pulling me closer. There’s still an obstacle between us, though, so I lean back instead, planting my hands on his thighs and smiling at him. His eyes glaze over as I move, but never waver away from mine. There’s distance separating our mouths, but for some reason I still feel like we’re sharing the air between us. Connected through body and gaze and something else intangible that tugs and pulls inside my heart until I tip back into the flames. Soft like the candlelight in the room that makes his skin glow and caresses his features. Then his face scrunches up and he shouts. I stop moving to feel the pulse of him releasing.

When he’s done, I curl back into him, enjoy his soft caresses over my hips and thighs. The sounds of our ragged breathing. As the heat passes, I shiver. He wraps his arms around me and whispers that he loves me. I cling to his shoulders and his tie and whisper the words back.

We whisper them again at the airport. Early in the morning before the sun kisses the sky awake. I watch him all the way through security and then cry as I drive myself to work. 

For the next few days, I exist in a haze. I have the TV on more than I’d like, if only to fill the place with noise. Stefan brings a feast of carbs and pasta with mild, garlic free sauce for us to eat while we watch the Opening Ceremonies.

Then comes the day of Graham’s actual competition. 

I have to be at work well before dawn and I’m still dragging from staying up late to watch the opening ceremony but I push through. I check the TV in the lounge every time I walk by. The internet every time I’m at my desk for more than five seconds. My phone is glued to my hand and nothing anyone says to me will change that.

I waddle through the halls and wishes for luck follow me. Every one of my coworkers knows what I’m waiting for. A snippet on a broadcast. A phone call. A blurb on the internet. Anything. 

Stefan, Brianna, the twins, and even my mother are on alert. Tapped to notify me as soon as they see something. There’s nine hours of time difference between here and Torino, which means at this point, it’s already over.

I hate that I can’t be there. I hate it. I hate it. I absolutely hate it I want to punch something--

“Hey, Savannah!” My boss shouts and that’s when my phone rings. “Get in here, quick!”

They’ve got the volume turned up, and the number on my phone’s screen is a random one I don’t recognize. I answer anyways and plug my other ear so I can hear.

Reality hazes over as I see him onscreen and hear him in my ear. Between the chatter in the room and the static on the line, I only catch one word that he says to me.

“Bronze!” 

Tears spring to my eyes as my coworkers get swept up in watching him ski, shouting encouragement over something that’s a done deal in reality. And even though Graham just told me the result, my heart still pounds as I watch the recap.

“What’s all that shouting?” he asks me.

“We’re watching it right now,” I tell him. It’s strange, the schism in time. Watching something that already happened on the screen and hearing the joy of it in his voice as he tells me he loves me.

Onscreen, Graham crosses the finish line and lifts a fist in triumph as he coasts to a stop, chest heaving with heavy pants. On the phone, he’s babbling excitedly. Random coworkers shout congratulations and hug me, perhaps a little too roughly with my pregnant belly, but I’m too caught up in the moment to care. It takes me a few minutes and a couple shouts that he’s on the phone right now before I’m able to extricate myself from their embrace and find a quiet corner.

Graham has calmed down and now talks quietly to me as my phone buzzes against my cheek. A stream of messages undoubtedly from every one of my family members and friends. My cell phone bill is going to be through the roof if they’re all text messages. But I don’t care.

Bronze.

“I gotta go, Savannah. Medal presentation,” Graham says after a few minutes of talking.

“I love you!”

“I love you too! I’ll call you again as soon as I can.”

We hang up and I’m ushered back into the lounge to watch this part of the pageantry live. He looks so happy as he steps onto the podium and waves. It doesn’t matter that it’s not gold. I can see how thrilled he is. I am showered with more well wishes and congratulations. The insistence that we get Graham on a show when he gets home.

Once more I exist in a fog, wandering through the rest of my work day, answering all my messages, trying to get things done and not getting much of anything done.

It’s not until I’m leaving work that I realize I didn’t feel the baby move at all today. I stop dead in my tracks and place a hand over my belly. Don’t panic, I tell myself. She’s usually only active when I’m not, and I have been moving all day long. My aching feet and ankles are proof of that. I’ve also been distracted to the extreme.

I stand in the cold parking lot and breathe, silently pleading with every power known to man.

She rolls and for once, I feel joy at the sensations of my insides turning over.

“Oh thank goodness, little one. You had me worried,” I say and drop my bags in the car then run my hands over the bump. I pause right where she’s pushing out, maybe stretching, and gently press back. “Guess what, little one. Your dad is an Olympic medalist. Isn’t that wonderful?”

She kicks and I laugh, swiping away tears and climbing into the car.

“Good idea. Food is exactly what we need right now.”

After the bustle of the day at work, home is quiet. I turn on the TV just to have some noise, and even though there’s no more mention of Graham, it is nice to catch up with and watch some of the other events. Not the same as being there in person, but I already plan on being in Vancouver with him, even if it means baby number two is born in Canada.

Baby number two. I haven’t even birthed one and I’m already thinking ahead to a second. I laugh at myself and tell Ariel all about the events I’m watching. There is a brief mention of Ryen since his first event is tomorrow. Or rather today in Italy.

I stay up late and manage to catch part of it and tell Ariel all about her wild uncle who flies down mountains at the speed of a car on the highway. 

Then, after a day of rest, it’s the team event for Graham. Stefan and Brianna join me to watch that one and we shout ourselves hoarse, Brianna jumping and stomping the floor as Graham brings it in as anchor and his teammates pile on top of him. Another bronze. We’re loud enough in our celebration that my neighbor, Mr Taylor knocks on my door to check on us.

Once again, my phone explodes and I’m swept away in the excitement. Brianna and Stefan stay late. So late that I decide I’m calling in sick to work tomorrow. As I’m getting ready for bed, I spot my letter filled shoeboxes on the shelf and am struck with an idea. I use my “sick day” to sleep in and later wander through in a fabric store, hunting down bronze ribbon and buying several spools of it. The blue ribbon can adorn next year’s box instead.

Graham doesn’t podium in the sprint, but two medals is amazing and I’m high as a kite as I wait in the airport for him just days later. I still feel a little guilty that he’s skipping the last few weeks of his season, but as he sweeps me into an embrace and kisses me senseless, I don’t think he much minds it. When he lifts his head finally, I’m clinging to his arms and breathless.

“Whoa,” I say and laugh. He bends over to kiss my tummy once and say hello to Ariel. Then he reaches into his bag and I hear the clank of metal against metal before I see them. Still holding me close with one arm, he drapes them both around my neck and cradles my face in his hand.

“I wouldn’t have these if it weren’t for you.”

“Yes you would,” I say and kiss him. It’s sweet, what he’s saying, but so untrue.

“You can’t argue with me today. I’m an Olympic medalist,” he says and then folds me into another tight hug.

“I’ll give you one month of not arguing about it,” I concede and he’s grinning when he kisses me again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The actual bronze medalists in the events I have Graham winning bronze in this chapter were from Norway -- Magnus H. Moan -- and Finland for the Team Event. The US did not medal in any of the Nordic combined events at the 2006 games. I took some creative license with a work of fiction. In exchange, the USA will not be winning Silver in the Team event in Vancouver 2010 (which is what actually happened) for this fictional world. 
> 
> https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/List_of_Olympic_medalists_in_Nordic_combined


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